


The Beast Sympathizer

by whyhelick



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autofellatio, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Bathing/Washing, Beast - Freeform, Blind Character, Blindness, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Dildos, Dinner, Djura is not a smooth operator, French Kissing, Frottage, Frotting, Growth, Healing Sex, Large Cock, Licking, M/M, Masturbation, Morning After, Mutual Masturbation, Older Characters, Oral Sex, Transformation, Undressing, Werewolf, dildo, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyhelick/pseuds/whyhelick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the Healing Church's most imposing and prolific hunters is slowly succumbing to his own beastly symptoms. Frightened and unnerved, Father Gascoigne seeks therapy from a retired hunter-- disillusioned of the Church-- who hides himself in the abandoned old city. The old hunter is known to be a beast sympathizer, and his methods to relieve Gascoigne of his beastly symptoms aren't quite as medicinal as the Father expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Evening in Old Yharnam

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely editing and critique by Vee_hee_hee!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee_hee_hee/pseuds/Vee_hee_hee

“Do your best to relax,” the old hunter instructed as he hand-guided the priest over to the stool. Djura's quarters in Old Yharnam were cramped and tiny, forcing his session with Father Gascoigne into a corner of the room.

The stool creaked slightly under Gascoigne's weight. Even sitting on the wooden stool, the taller --and younger-- of the two hunters still measured several inches above the Djura’s feathered cap. Father Gascoigne’s condition was obvious even with a cursory glance; erratic breathing through his mouth, sweat collecting on his face, and were his eyes still present they would no doubt be darting and blinking frantically.

“There’s nothing you can do, is there?” Gascoigne asked between labored breaths. He started shaking his head repeatedly. “I did my best to fight the scourge-”

“Enough. Leave things to me,” Djura reassured, softening his tone.

Several moments of near silence passed; Gascoigne waited patiently, feeling the retired hunter prod and shift his head in different directions alongside a couple of “Hmms.” Djura moved his hands further down to lift up Gascoigne’s gloved right hand, then groped at the ends of Gascoigne's fingers. He could feel the priest’s pointed nails nearly protruding through the tense material. With several tugs at the fingers of the glove, Djura slipped the glove off and let it drop to the floor.

Gascoigne inhaled sharply, like he was suddenly submerged in icy water; he could only imagine his thick, overlong nails as _revolting._

Djura, however, slowly rubbed at the clawed thumb and briefly hummed to himself. He raised his head to look at Gascoigne with a subtle smile as he reached for his patient’s other hand.

The Father’s lips were barely parted. “You’ve seen enough,” he said sternly, before his voice descended into a low, erratic growl. “You don’t need to-”

In a single motion, Djura yanked off the other glove. He let it drop to the floor next to the right-handed one and watched Gascoigne very briefly bare his teeth. The old hunter snickered to himself as he gently worked his fingers over Gascoigne’s exposed left hand. The fingers were sporting dark and pointed nails to match his other hand.

There was a low, throaty groan from the Father as Djura continued his massage. The older hunter watched the darkened claws very slightly extend-- _grow--_ further outward. Djura wondered if Gascoigne could feel the shift.

“Now, let's see about your shoes,” Djura said as he lowered himself to a knee. “Those are surely even _more_ uncomfortable.”

Gascoigne would not argue otherwise; the shoes stifled his toes painfully. But it was less shameful than his feet being revealed.

He still didn't stop Djura, even as the older hunter began untying one of his shoes. His fingers felt oddly nimble and swift for his age, and the shoes slid off quicker than expected. One, then the other, like ripping off a stubborn leech. He held his breath for several seconds and stretched his toes, as Djura no doubt was taking a nearer look. There was some satisfaction in being able to wriggle his toes again.

The retired hunter was not surprised. Dark nails jutted out from the priest’s feet, just like his hands. Mirroring his work minutes earlier, the retired hunter slowly worked across one of the massive feet with both hands, and then moved onto the other foot. He massaged the tendons and muscles, then rubbed his thumb gently across each toe. Like with Gascoigne’s hands, the sharp nails slowly elongated further. The toes quickly curled inward, as if the Father was attempting to hide the change.

Oh yes, Djura concluded. He can _definitely_ feel it.

Djura slowly rose to his feet. He watched across Gascoigne’s perplexed, sweaty face with his lone eye.

“What can you do?” the Father asked abruptly.

“I can _do_ quite a few things,” Djura smarmed.

Gascoigne scowled, though a significant portion of his expression was hidden behind his bandages. He bared some of his sharper teeth at the older hunter to get his point across.

There was another snicker from Djura. “You mean treatment for your scourge symptoms, of course. You’ve come to me so I could make them vanish?” His voice swelled into something more rigid. “Visit your precious _Church_ if you seek some slight-of-hand to improve your mood.”

One of the older man’s gloved hands was suddenly resting on Gascoigne’s shoulder.

Djura continued his inquiry. “Do you _feel_ like a beast, Father?”

Gascoigne inhaled a heaving breath, hanging his head slightly. “I don’t know.”

I think _I_ know, Djura thought. Placing his remaining hand on the priest’s other shoulder, Djura raised himself on the toes of his boots, and kissed him. Their lips softly pressed into each other. Djura felt his own heart leap, and he slowly withdrew.

Aside from his slightly open mouth, Father Gascoigne had no reaction.

Still raised up on his toes, Djura closed his eye and leaned towards the priest again, this time planting his lips against Gascoigne's neck. He softly kissed the hot skin, and briefly tasted it with his tongue.

The Father was still barely moving.

Djura licked his neck again, then shifted to get a better angle to kiss the center of Gascoigne’s throat. He grasped at his shoulders and neck with his gloved hands, stretching up to gently bite the skin just underneath one of the priest’s ears.

Finally, Gascoigne’s breath hitched and shuddered. He was nervously breathing between his parted lips.

A subtle grin spread across Djura’s face. “You’re no beast,” he whispered as he pulled back once more, this time to face Father Gascoigne. He looked upon his features, and gripped at the taller man's chest and throat to kiss him again. Their their lips held together this time. The friction of the hunters’ stubble and beards felt… arousing. It was more rewarding than Djura hoped.

Naturally, the beast sympathizer wanted more.

He slipped his tongue between Gascoigne’s lips and into his mouth. He motioned it across his gums and sharp teeth, then froze as Father Gascoigne countered.

The Father pushed their tongues together and pressed his mouth harder against Djura’s. His clawed hands explored the thinly-woven garb covering the older hunter’s body. His back. His chest. Gascoigne’s hands crept up his lover as they kissed, until he felt weathered bare flesh underneath his fingertips.

It was Djura’s chance to shudder as the pointed nails delicately danced and prodded across his neck and chin. The kiss broke only for a moment.

“Be cautious with those claws,” Djura breathed. He didn’t wait on any response before he dove his tongue back into Gascoigne’s mouth. Djura’s hands roamed across the priest’s broad shoulders and chest for one more pass before he fumbled with the buckles on his shirt. Several unsnapped buckles later, their lips separated again as the retired hunter finally got a look at Gascoigne’s chest. His skin was speckled with grey hairs. Djura slipped off one of his gloves to rest a scarred hand on the exposed flesh.

The tall church hunter bit his bottom lip, now distracted by Djura undressing him.

There was a hint of shaking in the older hunter’s voice. “Gascoigne,” he started, leaning in even closer to his patient’s face. “Should we vacate to the bed?” The warmth from the Father’s skin as his hand slowly rubbed across his chest was… invigorating, even if Gascoigne’s deliberate reactions inspired _slightly_ less confidence.

Nonetheless, the priest bowed his head subtly with a nod.

Djura clasped Gascoigne's hand, guiding him into the next room. The ashen-haired hunter’s store-room-turned-bedroom didn't leave much space for one to stretch their legs; the bed frame tucked into the corner looked like a tight fit for Gascoigne _alone_. The older hunter made it this far, and was convinced to make it work. He swallowed nervously as he positioned Gascoigne with his back to the bed, then eased him down with a hand on each of his shoulders.

Excitement, anxiety, and arousal all boiled up from Djura's stomach. He felt almost light headed. The retired hunter lowered a hand to give the hardening manhood in his pants a quick rub, while shifting it more comfortably. His rugged hide trousers hugged him tightly enough _without_ the added inconvenience of his libido.

Gascoigne sat down on the edge-- causing nearly the entire mattress to sink into the frame-- as Djura resumed undoing the remainder of the buckles lining the Father’s shirt. He pulled off the shirt through his arms, revealing more scars across Gascoigne’s torso.

Djura followed suit, dropping his frayed cap and pulling his own garb over his head. The clothes immediately fell to the floor. “As much as I enjoy the view,” Djura started as he caressed a hand over the taller hunter’s chest. “You may want to lean further back.”

The priest did as told, reclining himself back onto the bed’s thin mattress until he was resting on his elbows. He felt Djura’s nimble fingers undo his belt buckle, then slide his trousers from his legs. Gascoigne exhaled in relief; he was stark naked with his stiffening cock on display. Like his claws, it was easing to let his member out of his stifling clothes.

“Oh… _my…_ ” Djura said, his voice staggering. He swallowed, admiring the size of Gascoigne's cock with a widened eye. It was still slowly hardening, and already-- and _very_ obviously-- several inches longer than Djura's member, and the older hunter never considered himself _any_ kind of slouch in size.

Only fleeting glimpses of inhibition still burrowed in the Father’s mind as he felt Djura’s hands continue to explore his body. They moved across his thighs and hips, playfully avoiding the erection. A sliver of impatience nagged at Gascoigne. One of his hands slowly gravitated towards his own prick as he listened to the rustling of Djura’s pants landing on the floor. Djura caught his encroaching hand, holding it for a moment. The priest replied with a low growl from his throat.

Djura took a breath, and moved Gascoigne’s hand away from his immense erection. “Mind you don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said with a tinge of mockery in this tone.

Even to Gascoigne, the older hunter’s intent was obvious as he leveraged the two of them further onto the bed. He intended to keep things… methodical. Draw them out. This was undoubtedly something Djura wanted to savor.

The priest on the other hand was admittedly less disciplined when he practiced intimacy. His heightened emotions only made it more of a trial to keep his hands away from his needy erection.

He was, at least, doing his best.

The older hunter climbed onto the bed with Gascoigne and straddled around his hips. Gascoigne felt Djura’s rigid cock dab gently at his own as the two positioned themselves ideally. What exactly _was_ ideal was a bit of a mystery to Gascoigne; he continued following the lead of the retired, and presumably _more experienced_ , one-eyed hunter.

“If you need somewhere to put your hands, you’ve got my entire body,” Djura offered in a quiet voice.

He felt Djura's calloused fingers thread through his long hair, then grasp at the back of his head and pull him into another open-mouthed kiss. Their tongues slowly tussled with one another as the older hunter pressed his own erection against Gascoigne's with his spare hand.

The church hunter gasped, immediately grasping at his lover's back. He tensed his hands as his breathing picked up through his nose, but did keep Djura's earlier instruction in mind to avoid pressing too deeply with his nails.

Djura arched his back beneath Gascoigne's touch. He briefly broke the kiss to rest his scruffy chin on the tall hunter’s shoulder. “Leave this to me,” he breathed. He squeezed their cocks together as they resumed kissing, his skilled fingers stroking himself and Gascoigne in tandem from base to head. Djura, however, had to give Gascoigne some additional attention with each motion; the priest’s member was _significantly_ thicker and longer than his own.

The duo held their rhythm of deeply kissing and affectionately stroking. Gascoigne's nerves were sizzling like a fuse. He curled his clawed toes against the bed frame, mashed his tongue against the other hunter’s, and let his hand cover the distance of Djura's body. His fingers made temporary note of the healed scratches and scarred wounds across the older man's body. The markings would surely have been forgotten by morning.

As Djura repeated stroking and squeezing their pricks together, he felt Gascoigne's large hand reach his thigh. The fingers stretched out across his backside, then slowly cupped at the cheek. Djura relaxed into the touch as he withdrew his mouth away from Gascoigne's. The two men rested their foreheads against one another as they panted in lengthy, exhaustive breaths.

“Are you close?” Djura asked with the little breath he could retain. The muscles in his thighs and calves tensed up.

Gascoigne craned his head back and nodded feverishly. “Get it done,” he ordered, hissing the words through his teeth.

Djura squeezed and stroked harder, using his thumb to massage the head of his cock. _“Ohhh,”_ he moaned. His arm fought against exhaustion to keep the pace up. The retired hunter stretched up his index finger to apply pressure to the tip of Gascoigne’s member. Djura’s eye glanced down, seeing a trickle of pale fluid leak from the priest’s hefty shaft.

_“Gascoigne-”_ the old hunter gasped. Djura wrapped his free hand across the Father’s back as he squeezed the members tighter.

Gascoigne’s hands opted to claw at the bedspread instead of any exposed skin. His entire frame seized up. _“Guh!”_ he spat. The church hunter’s voice devolved into low, throaty grunts as he came. Streams of warm seed slapped across his stomach and chest in spurts.

Djura let his head drop against Gascoigne’s grey locks, flexing his own cock to catch up with his lover’s climax. The muscles in his thighs clenched as his cock throbbed. Keeping their chests pressed together, Djura bit his lip to keep himself from whimpering. Several new ribbons of cum spilled between them.

The two hunters sat for a few moments, breathing into each other’s necks as their orgasms subsided.

Muscles finally loosening, Djura gave the cocks in his hand several more vigorous squeezes. The final remnants of seed leaked from the softening tips. He leaned back on his heels, immediately distracted by the streaks of cum across their chests. “ _Lords_ ,” he said, still gasping. “I’ll do something about this.”

Feeling Djura lifting himself from his body, the priest fell flat on his back. He heard the stamping of bare feet on the floor, then the rustling of cabinets opening and closing. A few moments later, the older hunter was back onto the bed. Gascoigne felt a dry cloth brush across his stomach.

“Quite a mess we spilled.” Djura turned the cloth over to a cleaner side as he wiped at the blind hunter’s chest again. “Well, I suppose it must have _mostly_ been you,” he corrected playfully. After tossing the soiled cloth to the floor, the one-eyed hunter draped a thin sheet over his lover and sidled up next to him. Djura watched him as his breathing slowly abated over the next few minutes.

“I presume you’re invested in staying the night,” Djura asked. He clasped a hand to the cheek of the grey-haired hunter, turning their faces to meet one another. The older hunter couldn’t help the unabashed grin that spread across his face. “I hope that leaves you feeling better.  
  
Gascoigne exhaled through his nose, already leaving his head to rest limply against the mattress. “Sure,” he murmured. The Father let the rest of his body sag into the bed, doing his best to will himself to sleep.


	2. Fewer Symptoms, Further Troubles

A low, throaty groan helped stir the priest awake. Father Gascoigne’s tense fingers feebly clenched at the thin sheets as he stretched his legs out, his heels grazing against a separate pair of hairy legs. He feverishly retracted his feet forward until he was nearly curled into a ball.

Specifics of the night before started to flood back into the church hunter’s waking memory. _Oh_ Lords, he thought. His blood-addled body has fumbled through the ashes of Old Yharnam to seek therapy from the city's only beast sympathizer, and he'd ended up _sleeping_ with the man.

Groaning again, Father Gascoigne gently rubbed at the bandages over his eyes. At least his nails had receded back to their normal, stubby length. The isolated beast-lover managed to accomplish  _ that _ somehow.

“Mmmm,” moaned a voice behind Gascoigne.

Rather than greeting his bedmate with a ‘good morning’ of a pleasant inflection, the priest settled on a defeated sigh. He heard the other man in the bed stretch to satisfaction, even if it included awkwardly bumping his his limbs into Gascoigne’s. 

“Feeling better I hope,” said Djura in a raspy, morning voice. He sat up in the bed and smirked at the church hunter lying next to him. The towering man was stark naked except for the bandages covering his eyes and the flimsy bedsheets strewn across his midsection.

Gascoigne shifted uncomfortably, utilizing a combination of the sheets and his toned thighs to hide his erection. Mornings were often… distracting for him, especially following a night of intimacy.

The older hunter sprung out of the bed and snatched up a nearby towel to wrap around his waist. “Would you like me to heat up a bath for you?” he asked, straightening the strip of cloth over his missing eye. “I think a good scrub would help.”

The image of Djura smugly grinning was already so vivid within Gascoigne’s mind he was grateful he wouldn’t have to actually look upon the man. “Sure,” the Father said in a low voice. He barely lifted his head to speak.

The blind hunter heard the pattering of bare feet trail away from the bed for a few seconds before they were replaced a creaking door swung open on its hinges. Once Gascoigne heard Djura shut the door, he went to work attending his cock. In privacy.

_ By himself. _

Memories of the touching, the rubbing, and the kissing of the previous evening clawed their way to the forefront of the hunter’s mind as he stroked his member. His mouth leveraged a moan that was somewhere between euphoric and annoyed. He recalled the way he'd been kissed, and the way he kissed back. Gascoigne remembered Djura's tongue across his neck. He  _ very _ clearly remembered their cocks being squeezed together.

Even as he climaxed and was left gasping long, withdrawn breaths, Gascoigne wasn't proud at how easily the recollections of his night with Djura helped him finish.

After his orgasm dwindled, the church hunter more freely stretched his limbs across the small bed. His feet peeked out over the edge, well beyond the sheets. He rubbed at his forehead and lightly bit into his lower lip. What a mess, Gascoigne thought, reflecting on the past day. There was at least some relief in feeling no shame about freely masturbating in Djura's bed; the church hunter was certain it needed to be cleaned anyway.

After several more minutes of appreciated silence, Gascoigne heard a few knocks from the other side of the bedroom door.

“There's a bath run for you!” Djura shouted through the door. “Still warm, of course!”

The priest clenched the bedspread and pulled himself to sit at the edge. A thorough rinse will do some good _ ,  _ he thought.

Once standing up, Father Gascoigne had trouble recalling where exactly his clothes and scarf had ended up in the midst gripping fingers and rubbing bodies. He ground his teeth together and snatched the sheets from the bed to cover his waist. Gascoigne would simply make Djura retrieve-- and clean-- his clothes later; he would be stripping again in a moment anyway.

Slowly feeling his way in the direction of the door, the church hunter found the knob and wrenched it open. Once inside the hall, he followed textured design on the wallpaper with his palm. 

“Ah, to your right!” Djura called out. “And you’d do well to watch your head!”

Gascoigne paused to correct his course, making his way through the nearly too-small door frame.

“Here,” the retired hunter said, now audibly much closer. Djura’s worn fingers wrapped around the priest’s hand. He played along, following the retired hunter by hand. Gascoigne, however, was certain it probably would have been easy enough to find the bathtub on his own.

The priest felt the steam waft across his skin. He let out a relieving sigh and untucked the sheets from his waist, letting them fall to the floor.

Djura’s breathing wavered slightly at watching the tall church hunter suddenly reveal himself. The sight, the closeness of a bluntly nude Father Gascoigne still very near took Djura’s breath away, even after the events of the previous night. “There’s,  _ ahem _ , there’s some bathing oils on the floor,” he said. “And a towel for you, here on the rack by the door.” Djura sucked in a deep breath and took a few steps to follow the taller hunter.

“Thanks,” Gascoigne said flatly, stepping forward past Djura and feeling a flimsy hanging with his hands. He promptly swung the stained curtain closed behind him.  
  
The one-eyed hunter chuckled awkwardly as he stared into the thin curtain. He could still see the silhouette of Gascoigne behind it, feeling for the rims of the steaming bathtub and slowly lowering himself in. Djura’s shoulders sagged as if both of his hands were hauling gatling ammunition belts. “Hah, of course. I suppose the bath is a little small for two people...”


	3. Dinner by Kiln Light

Thick cuts of pork sloshed and sizzled in the worn frying pan. Djura pulled the piping hot pan away from the small kiln and began dishing the meal across two dinner plates. He glided over towards the table with a plate in each hand. The flame in the kiln was left lit; it reminded the retired hunter of dinner by candle light.

“ _ Aaand _ ,” Djura’s voice took on a celebratory slant to match the subtle grin on his face. He placed the two warm plates at each end of the small table. “Dinner is prepared." The table was not quite large enough for dinner, but it would have to do. The plate in front of his guest was padded with significantly larger portions, with the cuts of meat spilling over the edges.

Gascoigne barely moved until he heard the ringing of silverware being placed in front of him.

“A fork and knife as well, of course." Djura still sounded like he was in reverence.

The blind priest felt for the pieces of dinnerware on each side of the plate, grabbing one in each hand.

After the chair legs grated across the dusty wooden floor, the older of the two hunters settled in at the table. Djura looked across at his guest with his chin resting on his threaded fingers. “Quite a smell, hmm? My nostrils may be poisoned with gunpowder, but this always does the trick.”

Gascoigne tore through one of the cuts of meat with his knife and promptly shoved it into his mouth. He viciously bit through the mouthful of swine, then swallowed. 

Djura watched excitedly, breath held. He delayed the start on his own plate.

“It doesn’t taste like much,” Gascoigne said.

Djura‘s entire frame sagged as if he were suddenly toppled with bricks. “Hmm, dulled sensibilities?” he asked, fishing for an excuse. The hosting hunter quickly hid his pained expression, as if it would make a difference with his guest. “Personally, I can’t feel anything on the left side of my mouth. Both of my index fingers are also quite numb. All that trigger squeezing, you see.” He delicately cut into his first portion of the dried swine.

“How fascinating,” Gascoigne said flatly, before stabbing the other half of his sliced pork chop and shoving it into his mouth. He chewed it like he was concerned about it fighting back.

A low sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, reverberated from the retired hunter’s throat as he swallowed. Well, at least he’s eating it, Djura thought. He quietly chewed on pieces of the meat cut up far more neatly, and far more small, than the priest’s.

Djura assured himself he must have done something right.

A couple of awkward coughs later, Djura took two gulps from his tall glass of water and smacked his lips. 

“So,” the old hunter started. If tonight’s dinner wouldn’t be considered successful courtship, he could always pry about what to do next time. “What do you normally have for dinner? Surely something that appeals more potently to your tastes.” Djura raised the glass to his lips again, this time settling on a sip.

Gascoigne shifted in his seat. “Stew,” he answered.

“Ah, I see! What sort of stew do you enjoy? Something with vegetables, or maybe steamed bovine-”

“Whatever Viola puts in it.”

Djura froze with a fork full of pork chop barely an inch from his mouth. The priest was clearly not one to reciprocate romantic dinner talk. 

Any perceived stiffness to the conversation did not slow down the blind hunter’s appetite however. Gascoigne had completely forgone the knife, and was instead piling an entire slab of the pork onto his fork, and then into his mouth. The plates and glasses rattled as he dropped his arm back to the table.

“I see,” Djura said dejectedly, his tone quiet and reserved. He took another sip of water and puffed his chest out a bit. No use not attempting to salvage a poor situation, he reasoned.

The table shook slightly as Djura retrieved the porcelain water pitcher from the edge. It was far too heavy, and far too fanciful looking with its  _ excessively _ textured flower design, but it was the cleanest he could find. “Tonight’s dinner may not be stew, but I can assure you it is no slouch," he said as he refilled his own glass. He raised the tip of the pitcher over his guest’s glass, then reeled it back upon noticing it hadn’t been touched. “Well,” Djura deflected. “It is the best you could settle for in the old city.”

“I’m sure it is.” Gascoigne’s voice took upon a more somber tone. 

There was an unsettling sinking feeling in Djura‘s stomach that he was pressing his luck. He briefly wondered if he could get away with preparing dinner again for his blind guest.

“I could cook for you again,” Djura immediately blurted out, naturally followed by a forced cough. “Dinner, of course. I’m not one to mind at all. I’m sure I could even rummage up some stew.”

Gascoigne swallowed the final mouthful of dried swine. “Sure.”

“It doesn’t have to  _ only _ be dinner, of course.” Djura was on the verge of very literally biting his own tongue. Gascoigne had been exceptionally tight-lipped about the events of the prior night.

Fittingly enough, the priest opted to feel around for his glass and have a drink instead responding.

“Or, well-” Djura amended. He forced a cough and took a deep breath. “Anything. It doesn’t need to be anything at all. Of course.” His figure slouched in the chair like sludge. “It would be sensible if you saw no desire to return.”

Father Gascoigne took another drink of water. He heard the rustling of Djura’s stitched garb as the retired hunter adjusted himself in his seat. “Whatever you think I need,” the priest said in a low voice.

Djura shot up in his seat with a wide-eyed look at the hunter across from him. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m here for your help.” The blind priest stretched out his fingers, then drummed them for a moment across the table’s surface.

“So... you wouldn’t mind staying one more night?” Djura bit his lip.

Gascoigne upended the glass into his mouth, and dropped back to the table. “I said  _ sure. _ ”

Djura released his bottom lip from his teeth before it started bleeding. He made an effort to steady his breathing. “Would you…  _ want _ to stay another night? With me?”

The priest skipped the _ pouring _ step and instead decided on drinking directly from the water pitcher. The table rattled as he sat it back down, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Will it help?” he asked. The expectant tone implied he already knew the answer.

“I-” Djura caught himself, determined to give his words some thought. He did settled on a response slightly more inspiring than  _ I have no idea _ _._ “We can find out.” The words trickled. “If you want.”  
  
Father Gascoigne pushed his empty plate towards the center of the table. “Okay.”


	4. Once More, With Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he convinces Father Gascoigne to rest another night in his studious care, Djura works his hardest to expand the priest's experience of bedroom antics.

The disquiet in the dinner room-- or rather, Djura’s hurriedly rendition of a dinner room-- heightened considerably once the meal was concluded. Djura’s churning stomach made the remaining pork on his plate unappetizing. His blind priest of a guest didn’t waste time or air finishing them once they were scooped onto his plate.

The hunter of Old Yharnam had little experience with intimacy. Most previous encounters were sudden and unexpected. Anything more premeditated-- infrequent as such circumstances had been-- were always regretful. Having collected all the used plates and the pitcher, Djura went to work scrubbing the dishes with heavy sighs whilst praying that tonight would break that pattern.

 _Please let this be different_ , Djura thought.

“Did you have enough?” Gascoigne asked, still seated at the table on the other side of the room.

“Hm?” Djura’s head shot up. He glanced back at the Father, watching his face briefly. The visible bottom of Gascoigne’s expression was as stoic as it had been all day. “I did, yes. Thank you.”

The church hunter responded with a forced, barely audible cough. Or grunt. Djura wasn’t certain.

“It’s getting dark,” Djura said with a brief peek through the window. He shook the remaining water droplets from the last plate and sat it on his shelf. There was a sharp inhale as the old hunter withdrew his hand from the shelf and looked over his shoulder at his guest. “Have you tired yet?”

“A little,” Gascoigne said. Truth told, he almost _always_ seemed tired.

“Well,” Djura started; convinced to recover from his fumble. _Are you tired?_ he repeated in his head. The Old Yharnam hunter took a breath to keep himself from stammering before continuing. He became increasingly weary with how easily his nerves subverted him. “I suppose I would be ready to retire for the evening. If you agree.”

“Of course.”

The older of the two hunters wondered if he imagined the receded hoarseness in his guest’s voice. His own observations were difficult to trust.

Father Gascoigne was led by Djura to the bedroom several corners away from the dining room. There was no doubt in the priest’s head that he could have found the room on his own. “I know the direction myself,” he said.

Djura swallowed before answering, just as the pair entered the bedroom. He briefly tightened his grip on the Father's hand. “I know.”

Gascoigne felt the guiding fingers squeeze his hand gently, then slip away. He heard Djura pat down the sheets on the bed.

“It would seem we are rather overdressed for bed, aren't we?” Djura took off his feathered cap, then slipped his jerkin over his head.

Gascoigne felt for the buckles on his shirt, slowly undoing them one at a time.

“Can I help with that?” Djura offered. He spoke slowly, doing his best to let his sincerity show. He rested one hand on Gascoigne's shoulder and the other flat on his chest.

Gascoigne sighed. “Are you asking me to dance?” he asked impatiently in a predictably flat tone. Nonetheless, he moved his hands to his side to make room for Djura's.

“Is that something that you would mind? Maybe on a, _ahem_ , a later date.” Djura's fingers were more nimble and efficient anyway.

“Do I appear as someone who dances?”

“I figure it a simple enough task for anyone in our line of work.” Djura unsnapped the final buckle, just above Gascoigne’s belt.

“ _Your_ line of work. I contend with beasts.” the Father corrected. “I don’t _dance_ with hunters.”

Djura smirked. He bit his tongue at pointing out the irony.

He paused his breathing, then laid a hand on Gascoigne's exposed chest. Djura's fingers dragged across the light grey hairs. “I would like to kiss you,” he confessed quietly, then finally exhaled. “If that's… within reason. I know last night was different. I fear I might have-”

“We slept together last night,” Gascoigne interrupted. His voice was still low, almost a hum. “We’re sleeping together again, tonight. I wouldn't overthink it.”

Djura prayed to any lord prying into his brain for the blind priest to not be lying. _At the very least,_ Djura thought as he pressed a hand to Gascoigne's exposed chest, _he's still playing along._ There's clearly something in this for him. Hearing it all in such succinct words was sobering.

Djura gently rubbed at the hairy chest, then stood on his toes to kiss Gascoigne. The younger hunter leaned over to meet Djura's lips. The kiss was firm; Djura didn't dare share his tongue. At least not yet.

Gascoigne reached for something to do with his hands as they kissed, settling on grasping both of Djura’s biceps. He rubbed one of his thumbs over the exposed skin. The older hunter's figure was well toned, though he naturally appeared lean in the company of a muscled giant like Gascoigne.

Once separated from the kiss, the two stood awkwardly in each other’s hands. “I suppose that prefaces things quite well,” Djura said with a nervous chuckle. Not so long ago the old hunter had all but forgotten how to laugh. Now he felt like an expert in laughing away his jitters.

“The bed, then?” Gascoigne asked expectantly. Standing intimately against Djura’s frame left him wanting to see to the removal of the rest of his clothes. His trousers were beginning to tighten. Gascoigne kicked his boots off, then moved his hands to the belt buckle on his waist.

“Wait,” Djura ordered. “ _I_ would like to take care of that. On the bed.”

 _Things have to be done so specifically with you, don’t they?_ Gascoigne asked accusingly in his head. He knew that opening his mouth (to speak, at least) would only spoil the moment.

Father Gascoigne obeyed. He felt his way backwards onto the sheets until his feet were dangling over the edge. Djura slowly climbed on top of him, admiring the muscles of his arms and chest.

“You're beautiful,” he said, moving his callused hands from his lover's exposed torso to the belt buckle. Djura planted kisses along Gascoigne's abdomen as he clumsily slid off the dark trousers. The Father applied the finishing touch by kicking the pants from his naked feet down to the floor.

Djura took a moment to admit the priest's fully revealed body: the toned muscles on his chest and arms, the myriad of scars scattered across his skin, and of course his _quite_ _tall_ erection. There was a hissing inward breath from the older hunter. He would have to be _considerate_ about Gascoigne's size tonight. Djura had plans more exciting than mutual stroking. He lowered his body until their chests pressed together. “You can do the same for me,” he offered, navigating the priest’s large hands onto his own hips. Gascoigne felt the inches of skin with his thumbs and fingertips as they became exposed, following the waist of his descending pants. He took notable attention to grope at Djura's exposed ass as the one-eyed hunter shuffled awkwardly out of his trousers. The calloused fingers trailed from Djura's behind to his hardening prick.

Djura held his breath as his lover’s fingertips groped along his cock, moving light prods to gentle strokes and squeezes. Light gasps escaped the retired hunter as Father Gascoigne ratcheted up his motions.

“A li-little slower, if you would,” Djura said, placing a halting hand over the priest’s. “It seems restraint is a trait you’ll have to learn.”

A faint snarl reverberated from Gascoigne’s throat. The one-eyed hunter chuckled softly at the outburst, then leaned in closer to the Father’s body to plant several kisses on his collar bone. Djura kept a meticulous pattern as he kissed his way down Gascoigne’s toned chest. The flesh softened across the priest’s stomach. Gascoigne slightly tucked in his abdominals at the tender feeling of lips and tongue against skin.

Lowering his head further, Djura teased the head of the Father’s prick with the tip of his tongue. Djura took a moment to lick his lips just before he wrapped them around the top of the shaft. Gascoigne laid back on the bed, head propped up by a wrinkled pillow. He spread his legs to each side of the mattress with his stiff cock on display. Djura continued to lap up the shaft with his tongue. He brought his lips back up to the swollen head as he gently advanced two of his fingers underneath Gascoigne's balls, then pressed them against the tight hole.

The priest gripped at the sheets with a slight gasp. “Djura-”

The older of the two hunters withdrew his mouth from his lover's cock. The shaft was still very nearly resting on Djura's face. “Should I not?” Djura hesitated, his fingertips still pressing into Gascoigne's ass. “I'll ensures it goes easy.”

Gascoigne shifted slightly. _"Easy_ _,”_ he repeated, his voice nearly a growl. He hadn't expected to reach that step so quickly.

“Of course.” Djura kept his voice in check, not wanting to sound too excitable. He crawled to the edge of the bed near his nightstand and grabbed a small bottle from the top drawer.

“This should make things a little smoother,” the old hunter said. He eyed the runny, translucent fluid in the half-empty bottle. A pair of nimble fingers unscrewed the cap. Djura delicately dropped a couple of teaspoons of the lubricant into his right hand, then liberally covered his two longest fingers in the cool liquid.

Gascoigne hissed at the cold slickness as the two fingers pushed into him. “What _is_ that?” He shifted around once more as Djura's second set of knuckles slid into Gascoigne. “And why do you have it?”

Djura's head perked up, pausing his fingering of the blind hunter. “Ahhh, glycerine, I believe it's called. It’s quite handy to have around for crafting explosives. You know how the Powder Kegs were.”

“Why is it kept in your bedroom?”

“ _Ohhh_ , well, let’s settle on personal use,,” Djura admitted. It felt silly to be embarrassed about it, given the circumstances. Still, there was a leap of relief in his chest in being able to do openly talk about it. The beast sympathizer continued the line of discussion. “And there's no need to worry about any discomfort; everything will warm up in a moment after a bit of friction.”

The two fingers inside Gascoigne turned and massaged slowly. The sensation for Djura wasn't exactly new. He had practiced lonely ventures of self-penetration using his fingers-- among other means. The soft, but thoroughly tight, membrane clung and formed around the intruding digits. Djura was sure to be gradual as he wriggled his digits deeper inside and stretched them. He couldn't rely on his own discomfort (or pleasure) to measure his success.

On Gascoigne's end, internal stimulation felt… odd. It didn't _hurt_ , nor was it as invasive as he worried. “It's safe to use like this?” he asked with grunt, feeling the fingers prod slightly deeper. Whatever the lubricant was intended for, it _did_ make the penetration quite gentle on the priest.

“Of course it is!” Djura exclaimed. He started to tease a third finger at Gascoigne's hole. “No need to worry about that. I have quite a lot of experience.”

“For your bombs, or for yourself?”

Djura smirked. “Both, I suppose.”

“I see.” _How reassuring_ _,_ the Father thought to himself. He leveraged his heels to push himself further down on Djura’s two inserted fingers. They sunk into the church hunter nearly to the third set of knuckles. _“Ohhh,_ ” Gascoigne moaned, feeling the fingertips inside him brush against his prostate gland.

“Hah, rather eager are we?”

“One of-” A sharp gasp interrupted the priest's dialog as his prostate was teased again, this time with a more succinct hooking motion from the beast sympathizer’s index finger. “Gods!” Gascoigne shouted. He clenched his hole around the penetrating fingers, in addition to clenching fistfulls of the bed sheet.

Djura added a third finger-- his ring finger-- to the priest's sufficiently slicked hole. He heard Gascoigne hiss again. “I'm sorry,” he said in a sickeningly obvious tone of lying. “I didn't intend to interrupt you.”

“I _meant_ to say that at least _one_ of us has to stay engaged if you can't keep your mouth shut.”

“I could do something more appreciable with my mouth, if you like,” Djura said as smoothly as he could to match his half-lidded expression.

“ _Please_ _,”_ the church hunter breathed. He let his head drop back onto the bed.

Hearing that need, that pleading, in the Father's voice was a jolt to Djura's synapses. With a smile peeking in from the edges of his mouth, the older hunter lowered his head and dragged his tongue from the Gascoigne's balls all the way to the head of his hardened penis. Measuring the cock’s length with a lick gave Djura more appreciation for its size.

Father Gascoigne exhaled a tuft of air like a frustrated bull. He moaned quietly as he felt Djura's lips wrap around the mushroomed head of his member. The lips and tongue went to suckling the top end of the shaft. “ _Mmmm_.”

Djura, following a hearty lick around the circumference of the erection, bobbed his head up and down Gascoigne's prick. He could fit over half of the sizable cock beyond his lips before the head teased his gag reflex at the back of his throat.

Fellatio wasn't something alien to the church hunter, but feeling the act through the mouth and tongue of his _male_ lover made it feel all the more exciting. Djura's skill at keeping him pleasured via his mouth and his inserted fingers stirred the priest’s imagination. He did his best to briefly picture the retired hunter-- hazily colored by their last mutually visible encounter years ago-- motioning his head up and down his erection while fingering him with several digits at once. The vivid mental image of the fingers sliding in and out of his own ass prompted Gascoigne to shift again, pushing Djura's fingers further inside.

 _Well, if you insist,_ Djura thought. He slowly added his pinky finger, sliding all four fingers into the blind hunter at once.

Gascoigne let out something between a grunt and a hiss. “Is it _strictly_ fingers tonight?” the hunter asked.

Djura dragged his tongue up the erection once more before pulling his head back. “Are you _begging_ for my prick?” he teased.

“I do not _beg_ ,” the blind priest corrected. “I'm genuinely curious.”

Djura wiped the residual lubricant across his own erect penis, and inched himself forward forward on his knees towards Gascoigne's exposed back-end. He lifted a hand to brush some sweat-stricken hair out of his lover's face, caressing his cheek with his thumb. “You're magnificent.”

“You're hopeless,” Gascoigne retorted. “And _dramatic_ . _”_

 _I'm honest ,_ Djura said in his head. _And I'm correct._

The bed rustled slightly as the older hunter inched forward on his knees until the mushroomed head of his cock lightly dabbed at the priest's ass. It was obvious to Djura that his lover was deliberately trying to hide his reaction. Was he feeling anxiety? Shame? Gods forbid it be _anticipation._ There was no hesitation in the mind of the one-eyed hunter that Father Gascoigne had never taken a man’s prick to his backside. Djura tried to remind himself how _he_ felt during his first act of submission.

_Lords, that was a long time ago._

The most coherent memory of that evening recalled enjoyment and relief once his partner had _simply got on with it._

 _Well,_ Djura thought _. Here we go._

With a surprisingly high-pitched gasp from the priest, the head of Djura’s cock nudged inside. There was a pause as the Old Yharnam hunter caught his breath and glanced back at Gascoigne. “A-are you alright?”

“You had four of your fingers inside me moments ago,” the Father said. “I think I’ll manage.”

Djura exhaled, and nodded. The assurance was more for instilling confidence in himself than the hunter underneath him. He pushed in further, _slowly_ , another inch. And then another. The slicked erection was halfway in before the muscle clenched and tightened, halting his inward thrust.

“O-oh, Gascoigne-” The beast sympathizer’s rhythm of breathing was rapidly descending into gasps. “I know it feels odd, and I don’t mean to claim the tightness doesn’t feel nice but-” He looked over Gascoigne’s flushed, sweaty face. He’d practiced quite a lot of patience and consideration, and was still left largely clueless about the church hunter’s disposition towards his partner’s attitude during sex. How _should_ he be behaving?

The old hunter decided that trying another spectrum might be more… enticing for his lover.

“Gascoigne,” he breathed, sticking to a flatter tone in his voice. It was at least as stern as he could sound, given the situation. “If you want the rest of this cock inside you, you’re going to have to loosen up. You can clench as much as you want when I’m ready to finish. I don’t want this over with too quickly.”

A flash of sweat swept over Djura’s body, like he’d just been dropped into a furnace. How rarely he used such a tone. It felt like he’d briefly let someone else run his mouth for him. So much for being a gentleman, he mused in his mind.

Nonetheless, the pressure surrounding Djura’s cock did ease, leaving his lover plenty smooth enough to push through. He almost took the time to chuckle at himself, but instead the one-eyed hunter swiftly shoved the rest of his member inside his bedmate. 

Djura flexed his cock inside Gascoigne once it was completely inside. He picked up his pace, guiding himself by his lover’s breathing. There was a sort of rhythm of grunts and moans from the priest. Djura would pull himself out until the tip of his penis was barely teasing the loosened entrance, and then fiercely drive it back in fully, in a single motion. It wasn’t an action to repeat too frequently, he decided. The older of the two hunters maintained a steady series of thrusts in and out, accompanied by barely audible squelches of the lubricant and precum. Djura found himself fucking Gascoigne with his eye closed. He focused on the sounds, listening to the nuances of the colliding skin and the wetness between his prick and the muscle of the rectum surrounding it.

_By Lawrence’s wrended skull, that’s hot._

Gascoigne, still gripping the bed with one hand as if for dear life, reached for his own large erection with his other hand. Djura watched him awkwardly fondle himself for a few seconds before slowing his thrusts. Gascoigne reflexively bared his teeth as Djura pushed his masturbating hand away from his cock. A thought had crossed Djura's mind; if he failed, it would be quite an embarrassment for the moment.

Then he recalled his lover couldn't _see_ to begin with. _Hah, if it works_ _,_ Djura surmised, _t’will be quite a pleasant surprise for both of us._

Djura pulled his cock out a bit from the blind hunter’s rear, committing to more shallow thrusts as he leaned over. His back and stomached strained as he bent over, but after a deep breath and a bit of focus, his lips could reach the head of Gascoigne's prick.

“Djura? Y-you can-” Gascoigne gasped before throwing his head back onto a pillow. “Oh _Gods_ _-_ ”

Djura replied internally to Gascoigne's vocal inquiry. He was as satisfied with himself as he was surprised. _Oh yes,_ he thought, slowly descending his lips down his lover’s prick as he continued to fuck him. _I definitely can._

The sphincter clenched sporadically around the invading cock. It made Djura's rhythm of thrusts uneven as he became more dedicated to bobbing his lips up and down, slathering his tongue around the church hunter’s shaft as he did so.

Gascoigne was left thrashing his head back and forth across his pillow. He breathed like he was in heat, moaning as he licked his lips. _“_ _Djura~_ ”

Lifting his mouth from the cock, Djura licked his lips and gazed over the heaving, sweating Gascoigne with a smile. “Don’t give in too quickly,” he said, then descended back down to slide his lips and tongue along the length of the shaft. He did his best to ignore the strain in his back.

The hunter of Old Yharnam upheld a pattern of giving attention to the head of Gascoigne’s erection the further he was thrust into his rear, then sinking down on the cock until it pressed at his throat as he eased. Djura could smell the sweat, the perspiration, and a heady scent he could only assume was a musk wavering from his lover. He could only imagine how strong the smell was to Gascoigne. He could only imagine how intense it all felt.

“Djura, I’m-” the church hunter started as his one-eyed lover relinquished oral service of his cock for several harder thrusts. He was barely able to get the words out through his gritted teeth. “ _I’m_ _close . ”_

Djura dove his mouth back onto the hunter’s member and massaged the base with his hand. Hearing Gascoigne’s breathing pick up faster and harsher made his own cock twitch. _By all means ,_ he thought. He would have spoken it aloud were his mouth not so full and preoccupied.

After a few more oral polishings across the priest's erection, Djura froze as he heard Gascoigne grunt. The length of Djura's tongue clung from the wide shaft up to the mushroomed head. The blind hunter’s body and cock shuddered slightly. It was a reaction the older hunter found quite typical for orgasm, especially given the Father's low moaning. What _wasn't_ as expected for Djura was how the member between his lips was now nudging harder into his throat, how the head broadened even greater and filled more of his mouth. He tilted his head back as the penis flexed again alongside a groan from its owner. Djura, treating the expanded head with his tongue and working his fingers further up the shaft, figured the member must have rapidly gained another two or three inches in length.

Gascoigne’s cock flexed once more, topping off the growth. Djura tasted the seed that dribbled from the tip. He lapped up the fluid, exhaling from his nose as relished it. Not the banal taste, of course, but the satisfaction.

“Grrr.. G-guh!” The noise from Gascoigne was throaty. Djura squeezed his shaft, forcing out another strident grunt. The Father's breaths were beginning to sound nearly _panicked ._

Djura kept his mouth over the head of the massive erection as it twitched, slinging out a volley of cum. The one-eyed hunter swallowed the load, making an effort to keep up as the orgasm continued. The priest's hips bucked and spasmed with each ejaculation. His breath continued to shudder amidst the climax.

Gascoigne’s cum sloshed across Djura’s tongue and down his mouth as he swallowed the first load. The next serving erupted into the roof of the retired hunter’s mouth before the first was barely down his throat; the salty fluid washed across the nuances of Djura’s mouth all too quickly as pale traces of the orgasm trickled past his lips.

Committing to a second-- and rather half-hearted-- swallow, Djura’s head lept up from the flared cock with a brief gasp for air. He took in a few breaths as he gazed down at the leaking cock underneath him. Both sets of the one-eyed hunter’s worn and nimble fingers worked at massaging and squeezing the base of the shaft, then slowly stroked their way to the tip. His eyes were fixed on the member. The intervals of its spasms slowed as the ejaculation receded from gushing cum to spittle. The slick fluid ran down Djura’s fingers, lubricating his strokes until there was scant seed left to emerge. Father Gascoigne’s body ceased to shudder, and his breathing returned to prolonged, quieter gasps.

Djura sat on his heels smack between his lover’s well spread legs and casually wiped the back of his wrist over his mouth. He looked over the scene, admiring the spots of sheen across the church hunter’s body, whether it be sweat, semen, or his own lubricant. Gascoigne was _certainly_ a man well serviced.

“I would say I’ve not seen a man finish quite like that before.” The tone in Djura’s voice was insultingly smug. He strategically omitted that his sample pool of experience was, well, on the _limited_ side of the spectrum. “I'd equally claim _you've_ never finished so strongly.” He'd never thought to attempt something like that; committing to oral duties during penetration. It was a _brilliant_ course of action, he'd decided.

“That-” The blind priest caught himself. He didn't want to over sell the experience. “It felt good.”

Djura smirked. He lied down over the Father's body, letting his dry left hand explore the man's jaw as he leaned in. Djura gently scratched his nails against the stubble under the chin of the church hunter.

“Mmm,” moaned Gascoigne as the touching prodded and pricked at his beard. After moment, Djura tugged on the uneven hairs to keep the two of them face to face. Their noses brushed together. The retired hunter rested in his hands on the shoulders of his bed mate. He inhaled a quick breath, readying himself to close the gap-

Until _he_ was kissed first.

Father Gascoigne pushed his lips into Djura's. After a subtle gasp from the older man, he wasted no time making the kiss mutual; the blind priest knew the old hunter was far too... _touchy_ to resist the intimacy. Finally, the act, the _i nitiative_ , felt like his own. Their lips continued moving against one another. Djura tightened the grip on his lover, then slipped his tongue into Gascoigne's mouth.

Gascoigne tasted the intrusion with his own tongue. They kissed deeply, wringing a moan out of Djura. The priest pushed their chests together. The sweat and cum across their bodies created friction. Proof of their intimacy. The Father pulled his mouth away from Djura's to catch his breath. He motioned one of his large hands across the back of the smaller hunter. The broad and calloused hands swept over the scars and toned muscle as his breathing steadied again. Gascoigne moved his lips to Djura's chin, kissing and nibbling slowly along the jawline. He could feel the older hunter moan and buck his hips into Gascoigne. The kissing along the jaw continued until the priest reached Djura's ear. He licked along the outside, then withdrew his tongue.

“Come for me,” Father Gascoigne ordered into his ear in a heady whisper. He stretched his legs up above Djura's hips, ensuring his rear was well exposed. He reached down to grasp at the taught erection and guided it towards his hole. His voice descended into a near growl: “Finish what you started.”

There was a gasp from Djura as the head of his cock slipped into the loosened ass effortlessly. “Now I'm beginning to suspect you truly are _begging_ for it.”

“Only _one_ of us has gotten off.”

“Mmm, of course,” the older hunter said. He wore the most posh voice he could, given he was thrusting inches deep into another man's anus. “How utterly _philanthropic_ of you.”

The bed shook and creaked slightly with each of the old hunter's harder thrusts. His hips smacked against Father Gascoigne's ass with each push inside; it was Djura's turn to moan as his prick slid in and out of the well loosened hole. He glanced at the church hunter's cock. Even as it gradually went limp, it was still _formidable_ in size.

“I wasn't, ahh-” Djura’s stamina caught up with him. He slowed his pace for a moment, catching his breath. “I wasn't sure you'd still be impassioned to be _fucked_ after you came.” He shoved his erection back inside Gascoigne in an especially rough motion to punctuate his statement.

The Father gripped at the sheets and groaned as the cock slammed into him. “Your crudeness isn't helping.”

Djura resumed the harsh rhythm, feeling the muscles in his thighs start to tighten. “I simply want an admission.” The one-eyed hunter's voice fell into a low, sly drawl.  _"_ _Confess_ for me, Father. Tell _me_ how good this feels.”

The priest bared his teeth. His fists tightened around the sheets as he leveraged his body further down using his heels, plunging into each thrust from his lover. He clenched tightly around the prick when it pushed inside.

Djura’s legs seized up as his entire frame shuddered. _“Gascoigne- ”_ Any semblance of a statement was cut off was by his own orgasm. His grip across his lover’s skin softened into feeble grasps as he came. Mouth hung open, he breathed a moan into Gascoigne’s chest. His cock, buried as deep within the priest as he could thrust, flexed and shook with each spate of semen. The breathing from the one-eyed hunter devolved into a low, monotone hum as his member continued to throb and leak.

Gascoigne shuffled slightly. He kept up a rhythm of clenching the muscles in his rectum as he did so. The intervals of pressure around the intruding cock only sped up Djura’s climax inside of him. Feeling the warm discharges of cum layering his insides… it _felt_ filthy, but heady and euphoric in its own way.

Djura’s orgasm subsided. His softening member slid out of Gascoigne’s hole, leaving dollops of cum and lubricant leaking onto the bed. Djura tried to laugh at the sight of the Father’s well loosened, well _opened_ ass leaving such a mess on the bed, but he still hadn’t recovered his voice. He reached down and thumbed at the entrance. It was remarkable how effortless it was to prod and stretch.

“Aren’t you done down there?”

Djura cleared his throat with a forced cough. “Apologies, just-” He applied his other hand, using both thumbs to nudge and widen the hole further. “It’s _impressive_ how far a little preparation can go.”

“Isn’t all this territory well tested for you?”

Gascoigne’s irritability was adorable, but Djura sought not to argue with him. “I suppose it is.”

After wiping up the spots of lubricant and semen across them, Djura tossed the rag aside and sidled up next to his lover, hand resting on his exposed chest. The older hunter enjoyed running his fingers through the priest's gray chest hair. The motion repeated over the next few minutes as he listened to Gascoigne's breathing wind down.

Djura was still no less taken with the Father than when he'd been undressed the night before; his lengthy grey locks, tall figure and defined muscles were ever appealing. The slight chubbiness in the center of Gascoigne's stomach was fun to lay a hand on, feeling him steadily breathe up and down

“You're beautiful,” Djura complimented, his voice nearly a whisper.

“So I've heard,” sassed Gascoigne. He gently rubbed his hand over Djura's shoulder.

“You're in better spirits, then?”

“Not as if the beast is clawing through my veins to poke its way out of my hands and feet,” said Gascoigne. “Fair to say this feels better.”

Gascoigne scratched at an itch just beneath his bandages, then pulled the strewn bedsheet over their bodies.

“Mmm, thank you,” said Djura. He eased in closer to the warm body of the church hunter.

Father Gascoigne motioned a few of his fingers through his lover's stringy hair, then gently kissed his forehead. “It's nothing.”


	5. Self Care in The Early Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening for the second time in Djura's bed, Father Gascoigne discovers a new method of abating his predictable morning erection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Vee_hee_hee and Darkmoonboar for the beta process!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee_hee_hee/pseuds/Vee_hee_hee  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar

Father Gascoigne woke with a sigh. The priest wiped his arms across the musty sheets as he stretched his limbs and let out a throaty groan. Muscles and tissue tensed beneath his skin as he balled his hands into fists. Relief washed over him; still nothing overlong or pointed, just the expectedly stubby fingernails. His heels gently bumped into the body behind him, forcing Gascoigne to recoil nearly into a ball. There was another sigh as he scratched at the bandages over his eyes.

Early mornings were often… disruptive for the Father. He shifted across the bed to make room for the burgeoning erection between his legs, then gently worked over his member with his hand for several minutes. He did his best to keep his breathing steady and quiet. The last thing he wanted was to create a scene that might awake the man sleeping next to him.

The way Djura had been left breathless, struck with reverence as he’d wrapped his lips and tongue around his erection.  _ While _ the retired hunter was burying his cock inside his lover. Gascoigne could only imagine the older man’s face as he’d breathed his sappy praise.

_ “You're beautiful.” _

Stroking his member a few times to the memory of the night before, the priest assumed a repeat of yesterday’s morning. He would masturbate to satiate his cumbersome  _excitement _ before preparing a bath. Gascoigne rubbed at his erection several times before squeezing it near the head, forcing a brief gasp. The sensation lifted his entire stomach with butterflies. 

After kicking the sheets away, Gascoigne shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. His feet rested flat on the floor as his face stared down at the mushrooming head of his erect cock. He trailed two fingers up its length and pressed it against his exposed torso. It stretched up well past his navel, nearly resting against his hairy chest. Realizing the truth to Djura’s praise was enlightening; Gascoigne  _ was _ supremely well endowed.

With a sharp intake of breath, and the self-assurance that this would still be far from his most shameful act of the past two days, Gascoigne slowly leaned down with his lips parted and tongue extended. The wet tip of his tongue reached the head of his cock quickly; the priest nearly jerked his head back. He paused, tasting the dullness of his skin. The church hunter sucked in a new stomach-full of air and descended further, until his lips were pressing against his member.

After freezing up once more, Gascoigne regained himself with a deep breath through his nostrils, then opened his mouth for his lips to fully wrap around the thickness of his shaft. He leaned his face down even further as his cock was gradually engulfed into his mouth. His tongue gently massaged the length from the inside of his mouth, tasting the warm flesh, sweat, and salty residue from the night before. Gascoigne tried to replicate the most satisfying of Djura's oral gymnastics with his thick tongue and suckling lips. The motions repeated as he lowered his head until the tip of his erection poked at the back of his throat.

Gascoigne paused to suppress his gag reflex, freezing for a third time. He took a few more heavy breaths through his nose. The Father, straining his back, must have nudged his lips halfway down his cock; surprising results that only whipped his tongue into speedier action. His mouth began a slow rhythm of rising and descending on his erection, like the crankshaft of a piston. Servicing himself felt...  _different _ than Djura’s mouth. It was more than a simple disparity in experience or technique (though Father Gascoigne would admit that the one-eyed hunter definitely had a leg up in those factors). The rough texture of his lips and thicker density of his tongue made the act unique to the night before.

Gripping the undersides of his thighs, the church hunter used the leverage to more smoothly pull himself down the length of his prick. He kept up a rhythm of lifting his head as ran his tongue across the sensitive tip of his member, then lowering deep until it teased his throat. Gascoigne lapped at the tastes of the remains that Djura had coaxed out of him. Thinking of accomplishing that himself, at the given moment, with his  _ own _ mouth, made his stomach churn with excitement.

Remembering last night's penetration, Gascoigne's right hand slid from his thigh and squeezed underneath his testicles. He stretched out his middle finger to prod at his ass. He paused his self-fellating to inhale another deep breath through his nose, then poked the fingertip into his asshole. He resumed the up-and-down tongue bath across his cock's shaft as he pushed his middle finger deeper into his rear, past the knuckles. The lack of Djura's lubricant added significant friction to the intrusion. Gascoigne wriggled his digit, loosening his hole before forcing in a second finger.

The blind hunter resumed motioning his mouth up and down his prick. He pistoned two fingers deeper inside his rear as he squeezed at the base of his member with his free hand. All of the titillation at his penis slowly invited the familiar pressure in his muscles and contracting in his legs. The soreness and pressure building in his neck approached a painful threshold the further his legs tensed up.

“Mmph!” The erection in Gascoigne’s mouth stifled his outburst a spasm. He widened his jaw even further as a trickle of precum dabbed his writhing tongue. The flesh in his mouth swelled,  _ expanded _ as his thighs seized up in preparation for climax. His prick pushed tighter against the back of his throat.

A quick stream of seed, thick and warm, shot into the back of his mouth. He let a small amount collect onto his tongue before he swallowed. The taste was a great deal more intense than the leftovers from Djura's mouth when they kissed the night before. As soon as the first load was down the Father’s throat, a second, even larger load bombarded his mouth. 

Gascoigne squeezed his prick tighter, fingered himself deeper, and licked up the cum sloshing across the roof of his mouth.

Pale fluid seeped down the thick shaft from Father Gascoigne's lips as he lifted his head back up. The church hunter's worn hand squeezed and stroked his member. More rushes of semen painted sloppy stripes across his neck and chest before slowing to a steady leak. 

Labored breaths followed his masturbation. Gascoigne pulled the fingers penetrating his hole to grip at his penis with both hands as his orgasm, and gasps, abated. His thumb motioned over the mushroomed cock head. It was slick with dribbling semen, but  _ flared _ in size. The priest's entire erection was several inches taller and thicker.

Leaning back in towards the overwhelming musk, the blind priest lapped up the cum trickling from his cock. His tongue thoroughly traced around the head to collect the spilled semen. The heavy breathing from his nose intensified as he greedily wrapped his lips once more over his erection before it softened. He relished the hot skin and sticky residue in his mouth.

He pulled his head back up with a deep breath. Gascoigne wiped his lips with his thumb, then licked at his teeth and sides of his mouth to be thorough. He took another minute to stroke his enormous cock in his hands; intimidating in size even by his own expectation.

As his prick finally began to limp, the Father stretched out his arms and nursed his sore neck with a rubbing hand. The act wasn’t without its cost on the priest’s stretched muscles, and the bizarre and unexpected growth of his cock during climax left equal feelings of excitement and disgust stirring in his mind. The way the length of his erection grew further into the depth of his mouth, the head of his shaft expanding to throughout his mouth, the warm seed filling his maw… Gascoigne bit his lip as his mind replayed the event, along with a simmering sense of pride and satisfaction. The hunter was confident he knew what caused such a disturbing orgasm.

_ “ Well _ then,” drawled a low voice from behind.

Gascoigne shot his head back towards the other side of the bed. It was reflex, regardless whether he could actually see the speaker or not.

“I didn't-” Djura cut himself off. “I mean to say-” He stared, unblinking, then settled on exhaling a chest full of air before trying again. “You have quite a penchant for surprises in the bedroom.”

Djura crawled across the bed to kiss the unresponsive priest. He tasted the residual cum on Gascoigne's lips.

“A perk of being so hugely endowed, hm?” the old hunter teased. “And of course your  _ flexibility _ is not to be doubted.” Djura’s cock stiffened with the image of the church hunter's self-fellating still vivid in his mind.

Ignoring his own burgeoning erection, Djura groped his calloused hands up Gascoigne's back. He savored every toned muscle with spread fingers until they reached the blind man's neck. “As spectacular as that was, it must not have been comfortable.” His fingers rubbed and poked at the insides of his shoulders. “There was no hint in my mind you were  _ that _ robust.”

Gascoigne remained silent. Any pride and enthusiasm simmering in his brain to match his shame almost completely evaporated.

“You should lie down on your stomach,” Djura advised, his rough fingers still working at his upper back. “If there's any discomfort, I'm sure a massage will do some good.”

“Do you mean to have my backside exposed so you can ram your prick into it?” Gascoigne smarmed.

The verbal attack stung Djura. He raised an eyebrow, assuming the priest's  _ impassioned _ behavior during the night before would have softened his disposition. Djura was clearly mistaken. With the quick visual reminder that his object of affection was still submitting to him, the retired hunter did his best to maintain his playful exterior. _“_ _ Hmm _ , is that what you would like? I didn't have such elaborate plans for this morning, but if you insist-”

“Do as you please.”

Djura’s hung open, mid-sentence. It quickly sagged into a frown at the unsettling cynicism in the priest’s dry tone. Gascoigne's lips being parted as if to snarl on moment's notice only drilled the sinking feeling further in Djura's stomach. He ceased the pushing and prodding into his lover's shoulders, instead letting his hands rest near the Father's neck.

The retired hunter softened his voice. He hoped the sentiment might be contagious. “Your passion from the nights spent with me is not a delusion of either of us. It is not a fabrication to admit you enjoyed yourself.”

Gascoigne’s head drooped forward as his breathing quieted. He felt the bed creak and shift as Djura climbed off, then after several footsteps of bare feet slapping against the wooden floor, he heard the bedroom door open.

Djura looked back at Gascoigne from the doorway. His lone eye wandered across his muscular limbs. He couldn't even help but admire the way his grey hair washed across his face. The man truly was gorgeous. Quite a costly catch, he was.

“I'll run a bath so you can clean up,” Djura said quietly before retreating into the hallway towards the washroom.

Still lying on the bed, Father Gascoigne pondered in silence for the following minutes. He rewound the memories of the two previous nights in his mind repeatedly. Remembering the touching and kissing formed a knot of excitement and anxiety in his chest. There was a raspy groan from his throat as he ran his fingers through his long hair.

_ By the blood, what a mess this is. _

Debating on yanking the sheet from the bed to cover himself, Gascoigne instead simply marched down to the washroom naked. The hallway was colder than the bedroom, but the warm steam from the hot bath sated any discomfort.

“The oils are by the tub,” Djura said as he passed the naked priest through the washroom doorway. He tilted his head to get an angle at Gascoigne's figure. Even after spending two rather  _ productive _ nights with the man, his body was still ever a sight.

“Towel?” Father Gascoigne asked, his voice a barely discernible grunt. His steps slowed as he reeled in towards the bathtub.

“Hanging by the door.” The retired hunter pointed at it with his thumb as if the motion made a difference to his guest.

Gascoigne dipped his toes just beneath the surface of the bath water. It wasn’t quite as warm as he preferred, but he kept that to himself. “You were wrong yesterday,” he said as he lowered himself into the tub.

Djura perked his head up. “I beg your pardon?”

“In the morning,” Gascoigne explained. “You’d said the bath fits only one. There's room for two.”

“Do you-” Djura stammered for a moment,then forced a cough to correct himself. “Ahem, would you… like me to  _ join _ you?”

“Surely a rinse would do you well.”

The older man was certainly of no mind to decline. “Yes, of course,” he said with a nod. He slipped out of his loose shirt and trousers. Djura was careful to avoid awkwardly tangling with the church hunter's limbs as he nestled into the bath. He rested his chin just above the water’s surface.

The two men rested in the warm bath water, submerged equally in awkward silence. Djura lightly chewed at his bottom lip for a few moments, then finally slipped off his eye patch. “The water will ruin your bandages,” the hunter warned.

Something resembling a low growl came up from the taller man's throat. 

Djura wasn't sure if the acknowledgement was agreeable or negative. “Should I-” he pressed. His drawling voice trailed off.

Gascoigne grabbed Djura's hand by the wrist, then guided it towards his blinded face. _“_ _ Slowly. ” _

The growling undertones of that voice made Djura shudder. Leaning in, he gently wiped the grey matted hair out of Gascoigne's face. His fingertips followed the layers of taught bandages. He untucked each layer, one by one, until the material unwound like a spool. Once the length of bandage was tossed to the floor, Djura had a look at the whole of his lover's face. The flesh was pale around his eyes, with speckles of redness from the rubbing bandages. The hair on his brow matched his grey locks. As expected, the priest kept his eyes clamped shut, assuming there were eyes still settled in his head at all.

Djura snatched up a dish rag from the edge of the tub and dabbed it with water. After dripping some of the bath oil into the rag, he started to scrub at Gascoigne's face. He took care to be sensitive around his eyes. The damp, oiled rag followed Djura’s hand in back-and-forth motions down the church hunter’s face to the bottom of his jaw. After a few diligent scrubs to Father Gascoigne’s neck, the sopping rag reached his hairy chest. Suds collected and trailed with each motion.

“It's difficult,” Gascoigne admitted suddenly. He let his body go limp as Djura gently patted and scrubbed his chest. The overwhelming scents of sugar and almond distracted his senses for a few moments. There was only the sloshing water and light scrubbing to accentuate the crippling silence, until Father Gascoigne steeled his nerves enough to continue. “I'm sorry.”

Djura's cleaning motions neared the church hunter's neck. His free hand touched and caressed at Gascoigne's muscled chest and shoulders. “It's alright,” he reassured. He leaned in to briefly kiss the priest. There was a smile on his face as the older man sat back on his heels to resume washing.

Gascoigne relaxed his knees, letting him sink further into the steaming water as Djura kissed him again. He relished the heat as he slipped his tongue past his lover's lips to deepen the kiss. Their tongues brushed and teased each other, forcing a moan out of the priest.  _ “ Mmmm-” _

The one-eyed hunter slowly withdrew as he leaned back into his end of the bathtub. He savored the musky scent that still clung to the Father. “I wouldn’t suppose there will be many more chances for that,” Djura lamented. There was a painful attempt at wit, thin as a throwing knife, blanketing the hurt in his voice.

Distracting himself from the conversation, Djura reached for the stained glass bottle next to the bathtub. He dolloped two more spoonfuls of the bath oil on the rag before applying it to himself.

“Wait,” Gascoigne ordered.

Djura lifted the sopping rag from barely touching his shoulder. “I'm sorry?”

Raising himself nearer to the other side of the tub (the older hunter took note of how his biceps flexed as he did so), Gascoigne grasped his partner's occupied hand. “I should do this,” he said as he took the rag.

The one-eyed hunter relaxed while the blind hunter padded and scrubbed at his body. There was little discernible rhythm to his method. The priest would wipe Djura's shoulder, then run the rag underneath his chin before dragging it down his chest and then scrubbing the underarm. Djura resisted a chuckle at how  _ quaint _ the entire scene felt. 

The Father's other hand gripped at the lip of the bathtub as he bathed Djura. Holding his breath, the older man lifted his forearm from the water, his fingers snaking across the back of Gascoigne's hand until they were holding it firmly. The church hunter settled in more comfortably as he haphazardly bathed Djura. He clasped his own digits over the retired hunter's in return.

Djura nervously scratched at his stubble with his free hand. An unbearable, saccharine pressure boiled up into his chest. “You’re welcome to just…  _ stay _ _,_ of course,” Djura blurted out. The pitch in his voice was just as desperate and hopeless as the offer itself.

Gascoigne’s washing slowed nearly to a pause underneath Djura’s chin. His arm resumed the gentle pace however, and only the sounds of the light splashing of the water and soft scrubbing were heard for the rest of the bath.

“I can’t,” the Father said in a quiet, almost rumbling tone.

They sat in awkward stillness once Djura was thoroughly washed. The older man gazed across Father Gascoigne's figure, from his muscular chest to his sopping hair. Even knowing he’d been blessed with an Old Lord’s luck for the past two days, the old hunter couldn’t help but be left wanting more. The bitterness stung immensely, and he couldn’t resist squeezing Gascoigne’s hand.


	6. The Moon Hangs Low Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still watching the streets of Old Yharnam in the weeks following Gascoigne's departure, Djura's curiosity and anxiety about the Father's well being refuses to leave his mind.

There was silence in the washroom. The two men lightly dabbed and washed at each other’s bodies as the water in the tub slowly cooled. Djura took his time. Even as the warmth receded and a sobering chill swept through the bath water, the old hunter made no illusions he wasn’t rushing things. Father Gascoigne’s motions seemed equally deliberate. Djura was confident that the Healing Church priest wanted to make this last as well.

After bathing, the men dried and garbed themselves. They stood together at the foot of the clocktower Djura affectionately called his home. He wrapped Gascoigne’s silken white scarf over his shoulders, making sure to gently tie the two ends into a knot. The beast sympathizer finished with a soft pat against his lover’s chest.

“What will you tell her?” Djura asked.

“The truth,” Gascoigne replied firmly, without so much as a second of hesitation.

There was a sigh from Djura as he rested his hand on the broad shoulder of the church hunter. It was the most intimate gesture he could justify. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

Old Yharnam saw no other visitor that month.

Djura retained his lookout schedule, perched atop the clock tower with his scoped piercing rifle aimed squarely at the warped double doors leading up to the city above. The doors were still, and no movement persisted in the streets below except for the rustling and growling of the residents. 

As the nights passed, the moon appeared larger each evening. It hung lower, nearer to Yharnam. The malformed denizens of the old city screeched louder, stomped harder, and would move together in greater numbers. 

_Does the moon still haunt him? _ Djura wondered.  _ Can his mind subsist on its own as the presence gnaws its way inside. _

_ Will he need me? _

During a succeeding night, with the moon looming massive and oppressive over Yharnam, Djura stayed inside the tower. He spied amongst the ruined buildings from his window. The hums and moans of a congregation echoed up from the church nearly buried into the city’s bedrock. Even so far up, the old hunter could hear them worship so clearly.

But not as clearly as he heard the large double doors creak open at the town’s entrance.

Snatching up his frayed cap and worn rifle, Djura darted up the ladder to the top of the clock tower. The cool evening air was refreshing after spending a day stifled inside his quarters. Once on the roof, he crouched at the edge, propping up the barrel of his rifle on the old, discolored brick. Djura passed the rifle’s scope over the wide-open door, then followed the cobblestone path across the small bridge into town.

There he was.

The scope’s crosshair hovered over the figure. The man was tall, sporting a wide-brim hat with a long trailing coat, and locks of pale hair nearly touching his shoulders. Sure enough, he was limply carrying a large hunting axe as well. The blade was nearly dragging across the ground at this feet.

Djura dropped the stock of the rifle at his knee. He felt his heart nearly leap into his throat. 

_ He's here _ _,_ the old hunter thought.  _He's back._

Djura paused himself from bounding off of the rooftop. He bit into his bottom lip.

_ What if he's merely hunting? What if he's harming the residents? _

_ No, there's many more fruitful places to hunt, _ Djura debated. His memory recalled the Father's initial visit during the previous low-hanging moon. Gascoigne had been there for Djura. To  _ be _ with Djura.

_ Be sensible. He approached me for help, not for a tumble in the sheets. _

Resorting to anxiously tapping his thumb against his bearded chin, the gray-haired hunter glanced back across the Old Yharnam skyline. He followed the speck representing Gascoigne down a flight of stairs.

_ What if he's returned for both? _

Djura couldn't know the intentions of the trespassing hunter, and he told himself it didn't matter. Motives aside, Father Gascoigne had returned.

_ He's here. _

The Old Yharnam hunter did his best to keep himself collected. Be calm, he said to himself. Don't appear so rabid or desperate.  _ Help _ him.

In a smooth string of movement, the old hunter slid down the ladder from the rooftop to the bottom of the clock tower, then followed the makeshift wooden pathways he’d built that circled around to the front plaza. Djura closed the gap between himself and the priest in a few quick strides. It felt awkward, nearly unnatural, not reaching out to touch him. The honorary Powder Keg didn't enjoy having to keep his hands to himself.

“You're here,” Djura said, the words coming out more quietly than he intended. He was still rather breathless.

Gascoigne merely grunted in response alongside a subtle nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter comes up much shorter in length than the others, but there will be another new chapter up very soon! Because of the way the story will switch between being leaning heavily on Djura's and Gascoigne's perspectives, I thought it most elegant to separate the newest parts of the story into different chapters. I have several more entries planned for this story, and I appreciate everyone being so patient!


	7. Abandoned Halls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Gascoigne recounts his wife, and his traveling through the forgotten, dusty corridors that lead to Old Yharnam.

The walk through the abandoned halls and dusty tunnels was lonely for the church hunter. He knew the moon would be hanging low in the coming nights. It reverberated underneath his skin, in his bones. Viola knew it too. It was no surprise for her to see Gascoigne don his hat to leave the house as evening descended.

“This…  _ friend _ of yours,” Viola had asked the day Gascoigne first returned from the old city. The girls had been rushed off to bed, and there was nothing to get in the way of her sternness. “Will you go to see him again?”

“I don’t know,” her husband replied. The Father knew however, even as the words left his lips, that he would almost certainly return to seek further… counseling from the old beast sympathizer in the lower city.

Viola clearly knew as well. “I may not be able to claim any understanding of the hunter’s sickness,” she said. “But I did not ask you to be my husband for you to use that an excuse to be unfaithful to me. I expect better from you.”

Gascoigne’s posture slouched into the small wooden chair. He gently bit into his bottom lip. Viola’s presence suddenly felt towering.

She took several steps up the staircase to the bedroom, then paused to turn back to her husband. “Please figure this out, for  _ all _ of us.”

The guilt and betrayal in Gascoigne’s gut followed him from his house all the way to the lowest, most scorched district of Yharnam. In spite of feeling,  _ knowing _ he was making the wrong decision, here he was. He just  _ knew _ Djura was standing there in front of him, his expression soft and hands somehow disciplined enough to be kept to himself.

The Father swallowed, then exhaled through his nose. “I wanted to see you.” Gascoigne immediately chastised himself internally.  _ What a foolish thing to say. _

Djura grasped the Father’s hand, holding it tightly with both of his own. “I wanted to see you as well,” he said, an excited chuckle almost cracking through his voice. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

Feeling Djura’s affection, hearing his enthused voice… The priest couldn’t help but smile as well. It was only an hour ago his mind was wrought with convincing himself this was something he  _ needed _ _._ Without the Old Yharnam hunter, Gascoigne would certainly succumb to his scourge symptoms.

Now, it was somehow more comforting to cast off the illusions of necessity and treatment. The Healing Church priest merely wanted to be in Djura's company. To be nearer to him.

It was, at least, closer to the truth.

As the retired hunter guided him back to his tower, reassurance washed over Father Gascoigne. It wasn't that he'd been convinced he'd made the wisest choice, but that, even if only for the next two nights, it might still be worth it.


	8. A Church Hunter's Appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Gascoigne is back inside Old Yharnam, and as his evening with the Djura drags on, the restlessness of the two men leads to another night of beastly changes and exploration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some more detailed beastly transformation parts, but things don't go much further than what was written in previous chapters! However, if transformation smut isn't your bag then this might be worth skipping.
> 
> Huge thanks to Vee_hee_hee for editing and feedback!  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee_hee_hee/pseuds/Vee_hee_hee

“The night is still rather young,” Djura said as he brushed the window curtain open. Glimpses of the moon peeked through the narrow walls and tall spires of the Yharnam skyline. The retired hunter sat his emptied dinner plate on the edge of the counter before turning towards the small dining table to face Father Gascoigne. Djura would fret over the dishes later. “On most nights I would still be on watch duty, for at least a couple hours. Would you mind joining me?” It felt like a superfluous request, but the old hunter bolstered as much confidence into his voice as he could.

There was an audible gulp as the blind priest washed down the final bites of his dinner with a swig of water. As expected, he’d resorted to drinking straight from the pitcher. There was a soft clatter as Gascoigne sat the pitcher back onto the tabletop. “Sure,” he replied, then promptly wiped the back of his forearm over his mouth.

“Only if it’s no trouble to you, of course,” Djura said. His voice teetered on the edge of stammering. “I don’t want-”

“It’s fine.”

“I know you didn’t return, come all this way to-”

_ “ I don’t mind at all. ” _

Djura shook his head.  _ The man said yes, _ he thought.  _ Why is that not good enough? _

“I've never visited the top of your watchtower,” the blind priest admitted. “I suspect it would do best if I were to have a guide.”

“A guide by hand, you mean?” Djura's tone took on a tinge of meekness.

“Would you do it any other way?”

Djura snickered, then walked to other side of the table to grasp Gascoigne's hand. “This way,  _ Father _ _,”_ he said sarcastically. The duo strolled out of the dining room towards the staircase. The dusty, misshapen steps spiraled down to the first floor. 

“Careful with several of these steps,” the retired hunter warned as he huddled closer to Gascoigne. “They're a great deal more deadly on your way down.”

Father Gascoigne stifled the dry retort he had locked and loaded, and instead merely responded with a vaguely agreeable “Mhm.” He did not argue even as Djura tightened the grip on his hand and placed his other hand at the small of Gascoigne's back. Though he knew the old hunter might claim this was to more safely guide his guest down the untended stairs, the obvious truth was that Djura simply wanted excuses to be nearer to the priest and to touch him more intimately.

Gascoigne found this far less objectionable than during his preceding visit.

The old hunter relished the cool air of the night as they pushed through the warped double doors at the bottom of the stairs. It felt so much better than the stuffy indoors. He made sure to take in a deep breath.

Djura led the church hunter around to the back of the building, still clinging to Gascoigne's hand and back. Father Gascoigne himself still didn't raise his voice to argue.

“It is something of a climb, I'm afraid,” Djura warned as he sized up the height of the building. It suddenly seemed a lot taller than usual given he was attempting to make the roof accessible to a blind man.

“I can use a ladder,” Father Gascoigne said impatiently. 

The older of the two hunters nodded as he fidgeted nervously with his collar. “Well then, shall we?” He opted to lead by example and began the climb first. Djura's boots rang against the metal ladder rungs with each step, and it only took a moment to hear the clanging of a second pair of boots below him.

After helping the Father onto the rooftop like helping a dress-sporting Cainhurst noble out of a carriage, Djura guided the two of them to the opposite edge of the roof. They sat at the edge near the dusty barrels of Djura's empty gatling turret. The Old Yharnam defender sighed as his eye lazily glossed the roofs and streets below.

“It's a good view,” Djura asserted softly, breaking several minutes of silence.

“I'm sure it is,” Gascoigne agreed. Djura's fingers brushed against Gascoigne's knee before resting his hand his thigh.

“I'm glad you returned,” the old hunter said quietly.

“I-” the Church hunter started. His statement whimpered out with a sigh in lieu of words.

“It's alright,” Djura assured. He laughed off the awkward atmosphere with an even more awkward chuckle. With a brief sigh, the old hunter's face sagged and his eyelid drooped, then silence returned.

Minutes passed, and as the night aged the only light left to illuminate Old Yharnam came from the low-hanging moon and feeble candlelight from the city above.

“How often do you contend with wayward hunters?” Father Gascoigne suddenly asked.

“Oh!” Djura cleared his throat. “Well, it can depend of course. Perhaps once a month?” He cocked his head slightly as he considered the factors. “Nights of the hunt are different of course. Sometimes a group of dazed, blood-drunk hunters will stumble into the city. They barely know better.”

“How many have made it through?” There was a tinge of smugness in the Father's tone.

“None.”

_ “ None? ” _

“Well…” The old hunter smiled bashfully, then rested his shoulder against Gascoigne's. “Maybe just one,” he said.

“Heh.” The priest couldn't help but smirk and faintly smile in response.

Keeping himself shoulder to shoulder with the priest, Djura gripped at his hand. He leaned his body in nearer to Father Gascoigne.  “Can I… is it alright if we kiss?”

Gascoigne grasped at the other man's hand in return. “I'm  _ here _ _._ You don't have to ask permission.”

There was a nearly vomit-inducing flutter that leapt from Djura’s stomach into his throat. He swallowed, then craned his head up to kiss the priest. He felt the blind priest lean down to kiss him back. Their lips and stubble pressing against each other.

Djura let the kiss linger for a moment before drawing back to inhale a soft breath of the cool air. He stared into Father Gascoigne's face, gently stroking at it with his fingers. He felt the disparity in texture between the priest's cheeks and his rough, dry bandages.

“Shouldn't you have your eyes on the town?” Gascoigne asked. A subtle layer of sass followed his words.

The small list of things most important to the one-eyed hunter dashed through his mind. For the moment, only one item stood out. 

“I don't care,” Djura said, then pulled Gascoigne into another kiss. The two men deepened their kissing as they slowly tussled their tongues against one another. Their hands rested on the other's body; Djura's hands grasped on Gascoigne's shoulder while the priest gripped at Djura's biceps. The one-eyed hunter felt, or  _ tasted  _ rather, the inside of Father Gascoigne's maw. He was mindful and delicate as he brushed his tongue against the unusually sharp canines.

Father Gascoigne moaned as their tongues continued to writhe together. He felt the older hunter squeeze in closer, until their chests pressed into each other.

Djura broke the kiss, suddenly panting into his lover's ear. “Do that again,” he ordered.

“Do  _ what _ again?”

“That noise. Like this.” Djura returned to the open mouth kissing. He quickly gave off a reverberating moan as demonstration.

_ I'm not here to moan at your touch like some alleyway harlot,  _ Gascoigne thought.  _ But, if you insist. _

He kept his tongue slithering and licking as he loosened a more guttural noise from his throat. It was lower and harsher in its tone.

The noise vibrated through Djura. He pulled from their kiss, recognizing that Gascoigne had made something less in common with a moan as opposed to a  _ growl . _

“How was that?” the Father asked, catching his breath.

The retired hunter, panting heavily as well, rested their foreheads together. _“_ _ Better _ _,”_ he breathed. Djura awkwardly shifted his legs as his cock stiffened in his pants. “Do you want to continue this inside?"

One of Father Gascoigne’s calloused hands stroked at Djura’s thigh. He nodded. “I think we should.”

After planting a sudden, harsh kiss against Gascoigne's lips, Djura lifted the church hunter by his shoulders and hurried him back towards the ladder by hand.

“You're not one to waste time,” the Father smarmed as he followed the older man down the ladder.

Djura spoke up at Gascoigne, firing back immediately and making sure he was heard amongst the clanging of the ladder rungs. “Time isn't something we're  _ overburdened _ with, are we?” he said.

Father Gascoigne's face sagged instantly. “I guess not,” he admitted.

Once at the bottom of the ladder, Djura pulled the church hunter inside. The rush of warmth stung Djura's cool skin. “Feels nice to be back inside, doesn't it?”

“Mhm,” Gascoigne replied.

After a couple of turns down the corridor, Djura guided Gascoigne into his bedroom. The Father made sure to duck his head underneath the door frame as he entered.

“We're awfully over dressed aren't we?” Djura said quietly as he reeled in towards his bed. He stepped in close to the Father and tugged lightly on his scarf. 

“You said that last time.” Gascoigne's words were flat and stern.

“Ah, well…” The old hunter chuckled nervously, then cleared his throat. His fingers started to grip at his lover's pectorals. “If it worked before-”

“Not this time,” Gascoigne said. He easily grabbed both of Djura's wrists with one hand, then thumbed at the older man's collar with his other hand. “I want to handle this.”

Djura watched, and  _ felt _ _,_ Father Gascoigne's hand trail from his wrists to his chest. Both of the priest's hands wandered across Djura's body, exploring his back, sensually rubbing up his stomach, and feeling the tight, worn seams at his neck. The older man moaned at the touching. After Djura motioned his hips to give his erection more room, Gascoigne leaned in closely with heavier breathing.

“How the hell do you take this off?” he asked.

“Hah!” There was a brief outburst of laughter from the Old Yharnam hunter. He affectionately smacked at Gascoigne's shoulder, then raised himself on his toes to kiss him on the lips. “You're perfect. And I think this will all go easier on the bed.”

Pulling Gascoigne by his hands, Djura backed up onto the bed until the tall church hunter was on top of him, straddling him by the waist. The mattress sank into the creaking bed under their weight.

Djura gently kicked at Gascoigne's boots as he motioned his hands over his thighs. His thin church trousers were tight against his muscles. “Let's get those boots off first,” Djura recommended, still rubbing at the blind hunter's thighs. The bulge at Gascoigne's crotch was increasingly difficult to ignore.

Doing as told, Father Gascoigne kicked off his shoes over the edge of the bed, then leaned in closer to Djura until their chests were nearly touching. The old hunter's hand roamed from the Father's thigh to the bulge below his belt. Djura's fingers grabbed and stroked aggressively at the hardening cock for a few moments until he felt it stiffen and lengthen further, straining the worn church slacks even more.

Gascoigne craned his neck down, bared one of his sharper teeth, and growled quietly into Djura's neck.

“Mmm, is that a threat meant to pick up the pace, or do you just want to turn me on?” Djura teased with a smirk. He bucked his hips, rubbing his stifled erection against Gascoigne's. “The jerkin comes off in one go, by the way.”

The Church hunter's hands slid down the other man's body once more, until his fingers brushed against the scraped belt. After another breath, Gascoigne tucked his large hands underneath Djura's jerkin, just above his hips. His fingers finally felt Djura's bare skin. He slowly, methodically, moved his arms forward until his shirt slid over his head. The retired hunter corrected his eye patch, then brushed a few strands of dark hair out of his face as Gascoigne promptly threw the jerkin to the floor.

The priest leaned in to Djura's exposed stomach and kissed the scarred, uneven flesh just below his ribs. He kissed the navel, keeping the rhythm as he kissed further down just above the breeches. Gascoigne nipped lightly at the belt with his canines.

“Ohhh, something of a romantic now are we?” Djura said mockingly as he watched Gascoigne kiss and nibble at his mid-region. He couldn't help but smile and giggle at the tickling sensation.

“I just want to do something you'll like,” Gascoigne admitted before working on Djura's belt with his hands.

“I like everything you do,” Djura reassured.

Following a quick huff to regain his confidence, the one-eyed hunter's trousers were stripped from his legs and tossed to the floor. Djura was left stark naked on the bed underneath the towering member of the Church.

“I think you have me at a disadvantage,” Djura teased. He groped his hands across Gascoigne's chiseled jaw and neck as he pulled him into a slow, warm kiss. 

Unbuttoning his thin suit vest, Gascoigne quickly tossed it to the side along with his pressed shirt. Taking in the sight, the older man pressed his palms and fingers against the subtle chubbiness of Gascoigne's stomach. He threaded his fingers through the priest’s body hair, across his muscular chest and up to his neck.

“My cock could use some space,” the blind hunter sassed. He grasped Djura's hands and carried them down to his waist, resting them on his belt. “If you don't mind.”

“It's things like  _ that _ that make you so ideal,” Djura said with a wink as he undid the other man's belt. It wasn't until the following moment that the old hunter realized that bit of flirting was lost on Father Gascoigne.  _ Then again, _ the retired hunter thought,  _ would it even appear flirtatious with only one eye? _

As he worked on getting rid of his lover's pants, Djura decided to pivot to a different subject. “The moon looms low tonight,” he said as he dropped the church trousers over the edge of the bed. Gascoigne's hard-on, now fully displayed, was still just as impressive as before. He dragged his hands from Gascoigne's torso to his forearms until his fingers were resting over the church hunter's. “I can help with it.”

Gascoigne's entire figure froze for a moment as he inhaled a deep breath, then relieved himself with a sigh. 

“Gascoigne?” Djura's voice was soft and patient.

With another heavy breath, the Church hunter balled his fingers into fists, then stretched them atop the bed sheets a few times. Father Gascoigne repeated the motion a few times before he leaned back on his toes and planted his hands on Djura's leaner figure, covering his nipples. “Okay,” he said.

Djura knew better than to raise question. His guilt made it uncomfortable to keep confidence, as if Gascoigne would only agree because Djura recommended it. He could almost hear Gascoigne's predictable responses in his ears: _“_ _ I know what I want _ _,”_ or _“_ _ do what you need to do _ _.”_   It had only been a few nights for the two of them, but he already felt like he knew Gascoigne down to his mannerisms.

Steeling himself back onto the moment, the older of the two hunters massaged the back of Gascoigne's hands. The skin on his forearms was marred with scars of the occasional scrape or burn, but wasn't quite as well worn as his chest and back. Djura held the hands between himself and Gascoigne, keeping up a rhythm of pressing his fingertips into the joints and gently squeezing the digits.

The effect of the stimulation was immediate. Gascoigne sucked in a breath. The air hissed through his teeth as his hands made an unsettling wet, shifting noise. Barely a moment later, the fingernails grew outward. It was nearly always the first physical symptom of heightened beasthood. Well, the first physical symptom that was obvious. And what a relief it was for the retired hunter; there had always been an  _ allure _ to the claws of a blood-addled hunter. Something that offered a glimpse at what lurked barely beneath a man's flesh. It was also, quite frankly, a quality on its own that made Djura downright lustful.

Their pale color of Gascoigne's nails quickly darkened into a murky, uneven black. The tips sharpened into dangerous points. The tall hunter crooked his fingers slightly, eliciting a whining moan through his teeth. “Hnnnngg…”

Djura couldn't tell if the light moaning reverberating from his lover's throat was brought out by pain or satisfaction.

The growing nails slowed to a stop as Gascoigne's moan trailed off. Djura ran his thumbs over the extended, pointed nails. He noted how the claws grew in far more quickly and smoothly than last time. “Well done,” Djura congratulated as he gave the claws another inspection.

“You know, your fetishes are rather  _ depraved _ _,”_ Gascoigne remarked.

A pang of truth echoed from the words. Djura recalled the time he'd stumbled upon a half-used canister of black lacquer, and used it to paint his own nails. He had feebly imagined his hands as claws while he stroked his prick in privacy. The gimmick was effective for at least a few evenings.

“You may be right,” Djura admitted upon the brief self reflection. His hands caressed down Gascoigne's frame, from his newly clawed hands to his calves as he eased his lover onto his back. The Church hunter looked amazing laid out across his be. “But you're quite eager to meet me in that depravity.”

Feeling the inviting touch of the older man's nimble, skilled fingers was enough of a signal for the Father. The tendons and muscles in his feet ached and churned. He remembered the feeling. Something inside wanted out, and he wanted it out too.

Gascoigne began wriggling his toes to catch up with the changes in his fingers; his toenails jutted out with the same  _ wet _ sound from his fingers. They darkened into a cloudy black color as they extended out with pointed tips. Gascoigne hissed through his teeth at the sensation.

Djura massaged the undersides of Gascoigne's calloused toes and feet as the growing claws slowed to a finish. Just like his fingers, the changes were smoother and quicker than during the last low moon.

“How do you feel?” Djura asked in a soft tone.  _ Perhaps a simple yes or no question would be easier _ _,_ he decided after seeing his lover barely acknowledge the question. He seemed rather occupied by all the sweating and heavy breathing.

“Should we keep going?” Djura's question was still matted in as soft tone as his aged, worn voice could manage. It was difficult to keep his excitement hidden.

There was only a subtle nod and effortless grunt from Father Gascoigne. He curled his toes until the pointed nails pressed into the thin bed sheet.

Djura's hands stroked the skin from Gascoigne's feet to his calves, and began gently massaging. _“_ _ Exerting _ yourself should feel good. There should be relief.” The old hunter's tone started to straddle the edge between being comforting and seductive. 

_ “ Guh! _ _”_ Gascoigne's head shot up with a short gasp. A slow creaking sound followed his left foot as his legs slid restlessly across the bed.

“What is it?” Djura whispered in a low tone, worried as if he might interrupt this new development. He made sure to maintain the softness in his voice.

The church hunter bared his teeth as he reflexively faced down at his legs. A couple of his overlong, sharpened teeth were well on display. “My feet-” His voice spat out the words in grunts.

Djura's hands kept a gentle pressure on the Father's heels. “Is there any pain?” he asked, noticing as Gascoigne's grimacing face started to shimmer slightly with sweat. A glance at the hunter's groin ensured that his stiff erection didn't seem to be going anywhere at least. Djura would make sure not to underestimate the  _ euphoric _ quality of heightened beasthood, especially with such vast bodily changes.

Gascoigne himself bit his lower lip. “Not… exactly. I can't describe- Arrgh!”

With a sharp, cracking noise audible from inside the priest's left foot again, he threw his head back alongside another gasp. His breathing picked up into a heavy panting. Sweat collected across his bare, hairy chest.

Reaffirming his grip on Gascoigne's feet, Djura watched, and  _ felt _ , the sole of the hunter's left foot slowly stretch. The shifting and snapping of the bones inside was still disturbingly audible. Even the small toe was curling inward. The sharp, blackened nails grew out a bit further as the toes twitched and stretched.

“Gascoigne…” Djura breathed, watching one of the toes shift and… move  _ backwards _ along its foot. “Are you alright? How does it feel?” The older man’s voice took on a tone between embarrassingly sultry and sickeningly smug, yet he still wasn't taking his eye of off the blind priest’s shifting feet. Gascoigne was either too distracted or too ashamed to reply. Djura was confident he knew the answer anyway.

The small toe continued to twitch and rattle as it traveled alongside a continued series of snaps and crackling bones. The toe kept its newly curled, decidedly  _ canine _ shape as it rested into place much further back on Gascoigne's newly stretched foot.

Following another series of painful sounding snaps and creaks, Gascoigne's right foot followed suit with his left. The length shifted and stretched, separating his toes and heel further apart except for the small toe. Just like the left foot, it also curled into a canine-like dew claw nearer to the priest’s heel.

Watching breathlessly, Djura couldn’t help but imagine what the bones must look like during such a transformation.

“Nnnnggg…” the grey-haired hunter groaned. He dug his clawed hands into the mattress as he thrashed his head back and forth restlessly. His erection had even grown another inch or two, becoming fully taught and bobbing with his movements as it leaked droplets of precum. The cracking bones and snapping shifts finally slowed as Father Gascoigne stretched out his overlong feet and newly clawed, heavier toes.

Djura leaned back to get a better look at the gasping church hunter. The stiffened manhood didn't appear to be receding, and he couldn't stop poking his new digitigrade feet into the mattress, as if he was paying with a freshly developed trick weapon. The retired hunter knew that, in  _ this _ shape, Father Gascoigne would only be able to comfortably stand upright on the very front ends of his feet. Djura hoped the changes would persist through the night; he couldn't wait to see  _ that _ display in the morning.

“How do you feel?” the older man asked. He swallowed nervously, divided by the worry of his lover undergoing such sudden changes, and the lust to help tend to his still very at-attention prick.

Djura raised his hand towards the incredibly stiff manhood. “Gascoigne, do you-”

Instead, Gascoigne wrapped his own clawed fingers around his prick and stroked it. The motions started slow and deliberate as he found a comfortable rhythm, but Djura watched him quickly masturbate to a feverish rate as his clawed feet stretched and rubbed against the bed.

Gascoigne pumped and jerked at his cock for a bit. He licked his lips, then bared his pointed teeth again. There was a stammering groan that echoed from the priest’s throat for a handful of moments before he let loose a drawn out and emphatic moan.  _ “Hhnnnnggg…”  _ Gascoigne's acting hand squeezed tightly near the mushroomed head of his erection. Just like their final night together during the previous low-hanging moon, the Church hunter's lengthy manhood flared and grew rapidly. The taught skin was even tighter across his prick as the girth expanded and the head lengthened another couple of inches. He bit his lip, then punctured the mattress and bed sheets even further with his clawed toes. Gascoigne's spare left hand groped at his pectorals, his fingertips occasionally pinching gently at his nipples.

_ “ Mmmmm~ _ _”_ the Father moaned again. His voice was strained and throaty, and accentuated the dribbling bit of cum volleyed from his prick onto his stomach. His body went into a spasm as another shot of white fluid spread from his stomach to the stubble on his chin. His orgasm continued with long white strips of semen collecting across his muscled torso, neck, and the left hand tending to his nipples. The intervals were quick, causing his whole body to momentarily shake.

As his orgasm subsided, the warm cum leaking from his softening cock pooled near his navel. Gascoigne’s flared erection softened into its more expected (at least, as is the expectation for Father Gascoigne) size. As his breathing settled back into more calm and even breaths, the priest held up his cum-layered left hand, clacking his elongated nails and fingers together as he felt the slick fluid.

Djura watched, rubbing slowly at his own needy manhood, as Father Gascoigne’s lengthy tongue licked up a bit of seed from his uneven stubble, just underneath his mouth. With a quick inhale through his nostrils, the Church hunter lowered his hand down to his mouth and licked a dollop of cum from the claw of his thumb. His tongue dragged from the joint all the way to the tip of the dark pointed nail.

Djura's mouth parted in awe like he was witnessing the slimy birth of some otherworldly god.

Licking his lips, the church hunter promptly repeated the act on his index finger. He slowly dragged his tongue up the digit, then the length of the protruding claw. And he did the same with his middle finger. Slower, that time. An earthquake swallowing the city couldn't have distracted Djura from such a sight, and Father Gascoigne knew it. He was absolutely taking his time.

The blind priest drummed his fingers through the air, being sure to show off his nails before licking the semen from his ring finger. Just as expected, his tongue moved deliberately and was  _ very _ thorough.

There was only Gascoigne's smallest finger still slick with cum. Licking his lips, the blind hunter lowered his hand again-

“Wait,” Djura interrupted, barely stopping Father Gascoigne's pinky finger just inches from his voracious lips. The old hunter affectionately touched at his lover's wrist. His fingers tugged the muscled arm nearer to himself. “If I may?”

Djura leaned forward, mouth wide open and tongue extended. He closed his eye as his tongue touched the base of Gascoigne's pinky. In a single quick stroke, like a paintbrush on canvas, Djura's tongue lapped up the length of Gascoigne's pinky, claw and all. 

Relishing the salty fluid for barely a moment, the older man immediately dove his head back down to lick up the remains between Father Gascoigne's fingers.

“Thorough, are you?” Gascoigne teased.

“I do my best,” Djura said in a low tone. He crawled further across Gascoigne's body to kiss him. Their lips met and their tongues tussled, tasting the cum from each others’ maws. Djura couldn't help but moan.

“I'd better mind my appetite though,” Djura said as he pulled back from the kiss. “There's plenty more I've in mind for you to fill me up.”


	9. The Retired Hunter Takes His Fill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bedroom antics between Djura and Father Gascoigne heat up considerably. Djura is committed to making room in his rear for the priest, and goes through the steps to prepare. Fortunately, he's already well equipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Vee_hee_hee and Lintufriikki for the beta and critique process!

Gascoigne's jaw hung open slightly. “Excuse me?” he asked expectantly.

“Oh.” The _allure_ in Djura's voice reset into a tone far more quaint. “Um, I meant only that I want you to fu-”

“ _I get it,_ ” the priest interrupted. “I'm just… not convinced that is a _wise_ idea.”

Djura climbed on top of Father Gascoigne, then laid next to him with his head propped up by his arm. “Is that so?” he teased. “And why would you think that?”

Gascoigne stroked anxiously at his stubble as his cheeks began to redden. He was nearly not mindful enough of his nails; his thumb claw nearly cut into his bottom lip. “Well, ahem-” He flattened his hands on the bed as he cleared his throat. “I'm rather, lar-” He sighed, then growled briefly. “I'm told that I'm already quite well endowed, and when the moon hangs low, it only gets, well-” Gascoigne bit down into his lip. “You’re plenty aware.”

“Am I?” Djura asked with a prideful grin and half-lidded eye. He’d unquestionably admired the priest’s cock before, but was insistent to hear the Father discuss it personally.

“Yes!” growled Gascoigne. “It… flares up, and grows bigger in the moment,” he admitted.

“Hahaha!” Djura reeled back in laughter, then affectionately slapped down on Gascoigne's hand. “My apologies for dragging that out of you. I've noticed, of course.”

“And that _excites_ you?”

“Naturally,” Djura said, his voice in a tone that told Gascoigne he would be a fool for thinking otherwise.

Sighing, Father Gascoigne slumped a bit. “At least fetch me a damp rag to clean myself up,” he asked as he nodded his head down towards his chest.

“Ah, not a problem.” Djura hopped up from the bed to leave the room. A couple of moments later, Gascoigne heard the footsteps nearing. The scent, something heady and rustic, rushed across Djura as he re-entered the bedroom.

Djura gently dabbed and wiped the wet cloth across his lover's chest, making sure to clean up the spilled semen.

Djura rolled onto his stomach and reached for the top drawer of his bedside stand. He pulled it open and lifted out a small bottle of glycerine; the same bottle he'd used for lubricating Gascoigne's hole during their last meeting.

“Is that the glycerine?” Gascoigne asked, piping up when he heard the ringing of the bottle being sat atop the nightstand.

“Observant,” Djura said. “Some lubrication will naturally be in order. And I’ll need your help loosen me up first, of course.”

“Are you certain?” He flexed out his fingers to emphasize the length and sharpness of his claws. “Unless you truly expect me to use _these_ to-”

“You just need to have a little more imagination,” Djura said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. With one fluid motion, he opened the next drawer down and quickly snatched up the sole item inside that loosely rolled around. The older hunter held up the object to admire it in the dim candle light.

It was quite a lengthy dildo, just short of seven inches. Though the roundness wasn't _quite_ as thick as Djura might prefer, it was clearly no slouch. It was expertly carved from soft wood into a remarkably convincing shape, and the outside was well treated to keep it smooth even after many a night of extensive use.

Djura hummed in satisfaction to himself, then handed the dildo to the Church hunter. “Here.”

Gascoigne's hand casually grabbed at the phallic item, then froze as his fingers rested into the nuanced curvature. “Is this-”

“Indeed.”

“By the _Lords_ , Djura.” Gascoigne sighed as he pulled the dildo in nearer. He used both hands to explore the length, from its flattened base to its mushroomed head. “How did you even get this?” the Father asked.

“Well, I bought it” Djura sassed. “It was quite a few years ago now. I would have preferred something bigger, but it was expensive enough as is. The larger ones also took on forms a hair too… _exotic_ , for my tastes.”

Gascoigne conceded the latest remark wasn’t worth inquiring into. He could do without the explicit details. Instead, the taller hunter stroked his hands across the wooden finish, from its flattened base to its mushroomed head. “I've never even _seen_ one.” The tone in the priest’s voice has shifted from a sneering disgust into something closer to high-pitched curiosity. His fingers more delicately prodded and stroked at the length of the dildo. “I only hear about such things in passing, or in crude jokes.”

“They're not commonly found,” Djura admitted. “But it's an investment I'm altogether quite happy with.”

Gascoigne lifted his head from the dildo to give Djura a blank expression. “I can only imagine you’ve got your coins’ worth from it,” he replied flatly.

“Ahh, without question!” Djura narrowed his eye at his lover with a half-lidded glare. “In fact, I’ve no doubt a purchase like this for yourself would be well worth it. There’s no shame in exploring the passion of having a firm prick rammed into your backside.”

“I'm not discussing what goes on in my bedroom at _home_.”

“I'm merely saying, if I'm not present to oblige, then it only makes sense-”

“ _Enough_.”

Djura raised his hands up defensively. “Very well, as you insist.” His face donned an innocent expression for a moment as he snatched up the glycerin bottle from the bedside table. Any innocence written onto the old hunter’s face was quickly replaced with a sneering grin. Lubricant in hand, he quickly crawled over the bed towards Gascoigne. “Then in that case, you only have to worry about using that for tonight. On me.” The old hunter reeled in towards Gascoigne's neck to give several quick kisses across his throat.

There was a sigh from the priest. His posture deflated slightly under Djura’s touching and kissing. It was difficult not to soften at such warmth and affection. “This is what you want?” Father Gascoigne asked in a lowered tone.

“More than anything,” Djura replied quickly in between kisses across his lover’s shoulder. He worked his way back to Gascoigne’s neck, up his stubbled chin, and then kissed him slowly on the lips.

After pulling back from his kissing, Djura turned away to rest on his hands his knees, leaving his backside well exposed. He grabbed the canister of glycerine once more and unscrewed the cap. Djura sucked in a heavy breath as he dipped two fingers into the slippery concoction. It felt cold slathered against his rear, but his shuddering quickly became a moan as he slipped those two fingers inside his ass. 

Djura's fingers turned and pistoned in and out of his hole with quiet squelching noises accompanying his groaning. He could be so easy to please. 

Looking back to see Father Gascoigne towering over him, dildo in hand as he leaned in; the older hunter bit his lip at the image. A set of pointed nails very gently raked down the older hunter’s back as Gascoigne felt the worn skin and toned muscles, from his neck to his rear. Djura’s body arched and quivered at the touch.

“You behave like a cornerside _whore_ , Djura,” Gascoigne said.

“Is that so?” the retired hunter teased. He glanced back to offer his lover a chuckle. “Do you have much experience in that area?”

“I’m not certain how many times I’ll repeat this, but that is also _none of your business_.”

“Hahaha, very well.”

The Father could smell the pungent lubricant; Djura must have been _thorough_ when applying it. “Have you finished preparing yourself?” he asked. His hands returned to feeling the form and length of the dildo.

Djura withdrew his slick fingers from his rear. “Yes,” he said slowly. He reached back for the dildo, his fingers pausing as they brushed over Gascoigne’s before spreading the residual lubricant across the shaft and head. “Just making certain that things go smoothly.”

Gascoigne groaned. “I hope so,” he said impatiently.

Taking that as a cue, Djura guided the dildo between his cheeks. “Right there,” he breathed, lining up the dildo’s mushroomed head with his hole. His self-fingering was certainly a rush job, but he wasn’t one to keep his partner waiting. Djura hoped he’d loosened himself enough. “Go ahead,” he ordered.

Doing as told, Father Gascoigne pushed the first two inches of the phallus inside.

There was a sharp whimper from Djura, leaving him breathless as the dildo entered. He bit his bottom lip at the sudden, stretching pain. “A little _slower_ , if you wouldn’t mind.”

Gascoigne would have rolled his eyes if he could. _How melodramatic,_ he thought. His voice, however, offered a “sorry” in a flat tone as he paused the intrusion.

There was a brief moment of hesitation. Father Gascoigne relaxed his posture, resting his haunches against his stretched tarsals. He turned the dildo in his hands as he resumed its intrusion. The messy lubricant squelched quietly between the polished wood and Djura’s rectum.

“That’s it. _Just like that_ ,” Djura breathed. “Keep going.”

“How much more?” Gascoigne asked, pushing the dildo in slightly.

_“All of it.”_ There was a large intake of breath filling Djura’s lungs as he hung his head until it was nearly touching the bed sheets. “Just go gently.”

Gascoigne resumed the motion. He slowly pushed the dildo in another inch, then paused to turn it a bit in each direction. Feeling the friction and resistance of the old hunter’s muscles slowly relax at the penetration was satisfying. It was no wonder that, during the priest’s prior stay, Djura had been enraptured with using his own fingers to do the job of loosening up Gascoigne. After he felt Djura heave in another decisive breath, the Father pushed the dildo in another inch, settling the length a bit over halfway inside. Internally, the blind hunter cursed at how his jutted beast claws had gotten in the way of performing this job more intimately. Relying on the wooden phallus would have to do.

“Enjoying yourself?” Father Gascoigne asked in a rasping tone as he did his best to shift his focus back to his task. _Damnation be to me if I don’t have it in me to get this little bastard off, scourge or not._

Djura nodded. “Keep it at.”

Gascoigne sighed. “As you say.” He pressed the dildo further in, squeezing through the tightness. The phallus’ shaft expanded subtly from tip-to-base, opening up the entrance to Djura's hole even further. The priest kept pushing the dildo further inside at a glacial rate. He relished in feeling the tiny twitches and movements from his lover's body through the dildo. Imagining how deep inside the toy was reaching caused a stirring in his own prick. He reached down with his free hand and gave his penis a satisfying squeeze as it hardened.

A moment later, and the flat base of the dildo pressed against Djura's ass cheeks. The entire shaft was inside of him.

“ _Ohhhhhh_ …” he moaned, turning his head to look back at the Father. “Good, _goooood, mmm_. Now fuck me with it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

At command, Gascoigne pulled the dildo until half the length was left inside. He promptly shoved it back in to the hilt with a soft, wet noise.

Djura's entire body quivered at the faster, harsher intrusion. There was a stifled groan from him as he clawed his fingertips at the bed sheet. “s’more like it,” the old hunter breathed quietly.

Gascoigne motioned the dildo in and out of Djura's ass faster and faster like a piston. The satisfying squelching grew louder with each cycle. It became easier and smoother as the older man's rectum loosened, until Gascoigne could turn and drive the dildo forward with little reaction from Djura. He kept his other hand idly gripping at his own cock; it was nearly at its stiffest.

As Gascoigne's arm tired from commanding the phallus, his pace slowed and steadied. “You loosen quite easily,” the Father commented.

“I've had practice,” Djura breathed as he pressed his ass back against the thrusts.

The blind priest maintained the steadier rate of sliding the dildo in and out of Djura. Knowing he'd be saving his remaining stamina for the next step, Gascoigne let go of his erection and pressed his free hand against Djura’s left cheek. He admired the toned muscle just beneath the aged skin. He cupped and squeezed at the rounded fullness of Djura's ass as he kept up the rhythm of the penetrating dildo.

“Ahh, an admirer are you?” the old hunter teased. He strained to keep his voice lax and natural, even though he was very nearly quivering. “Well, I think it's you admire my rear with that cock of yours’ now. This will do it,” Djura said. 

He lurched his body forward until the phallus, still in Gascoigne’s grip, slipped easily out of his hole. “Put that on the floor for now,” he added, motioning his head at the dildo. “I’ll rinse it off later.” He knew the visual cue wouldn’t matter to Father Gascoigne, but he figured the instruction was obvious enough.

Shrugging, the blind priest placed the slippery toy on wooden floor behind him. He made sure to stand it upright with the base flat atop the floor. It wouldn’t do any good for their mess to leave the bed.

“Now,” Djura started, raising his back end further into the air as he stretched his torso and arms like a cat. “Hand me the glycerine.”

There was an audible groan from Gascoigne as he snatched up the small canister and handed it to Djura. Though he was no novice in the bedroom, the scourge-ridden hunter had never known sex to demand _so many steps_ , and still, neither Djura nor himself had yet to engage in a proper fucking for the evening. 

“Relax, skilled hunter,” Djura assured in a calm, smooth voice. He twisted off the glycerine cap and poured a dollop on his fingertips. “Things will be better for both of us with a little more application.”

Djura pressed several digits smoothly into his ass. “ _Much_ easier,” he assessed as he wiped his lubricated fingers on the sheet hanging over the edge of the bed. “Now slick up your prick of course.”

It seemed like an obvious step, but the older hunter's experience with sex of this nature dwarfed his own, without question. Father Gascoigne thought it best to bite his tongue and do as told. He felt Djura tug on his left hand to leave a liberal smear of lubricant across it. The blind hunter took his newly slicked hand and stroked it across his erection several times. It was far too easy to get into a pleasurable rhythm.

“Don’t get carried away now,” Djura teased.

“You didn’t mind so much earlier” Gascoigne fired back, the memory of them each licking his cum from his claws still heavy in his mind.

Djura inhaled a deep breath. Even though feeling his lover's cock inside of him wasn't their only activity for the night, it still felt like the entire evening was leading up to this. “I'm ready.”

“You don't want to be on your back?” Gascoigne asked, leaning forward to plant a steadying hand on Djura's hip. He was mindful not to dig into his skin with his claws.

“No. Mount me,” Djura ordered in a stern, tired voice. He sounded as if he was on the verge of panting. “I want to feel you on top of me.”

Gascoigne paused at the demand, realizing the position Djura was asking for with his rear already jutted out and well exposed. 

“Very well,” Gascoigne mumbled. He did as told, straddling his legs against Djura's as he rested his torso against the old hunter's back. Djura was pressed into the mattress under his lover’s weight. The bobbing erection between Father Gascoigne's legs gently slapped against Djura's backside. Traces of glycerine and residual semen smeared across the aged skin.

“Is this too heavy?” Gascoigne asked into Djura's ear.

“No, you're perfect.”

The head of Gascoigne's prick teased at Djura's loosened hole. The blind hunter grasped his dick between his index finger and thumb to guide it. His digits moved slowly, avoiding his claws from scraping too harshly against any flesh. The one-eyed man groaned loudly as the mushroomed head of Gascoigne's cock slid inside his ass. Even after the thorough preparing with his favorite wooden phallus, the thickness of the priest's shaft was nothing modest.

“Ngh, are you alright?” Gascoigne asked. The sweatiness of his chest chafed roughly against his lover's damp back.

Djura replied by fiercely nodding his head. “Keep going,” he added with an expectant inflection to his voice, and did his best to push his rear back against Gascoinge’s cock in encouragement. “ _Rut me like an animal_.”

The Church Hunter raised his brow at the order. “I thought you said I was no beast,” he breathed as he pressed his hips forward. His cock nudged forward to match Djura’s movements, squeezing it deeper inside the slick, tight hole another inch.

There was a dry, single-syllable laugh came that from Djura as he shifted around the penetration. “That doesn't mean you can't fuck me like one.”

Gascoigne couldn't help but smirk at the attitude. He lowered his head until Djura's ear was within biting distance. “You're asking for a lot,” he says, the tone in his voice low and airy. There was a soft squelch as his prick buried further into Djura. A thin line of glycerine trailed down his thigh.

“I don't want a lot,” Djura corrected through gritted teeth. “I want _all_ of it.”

_What degeneracy_ , Gascoigne mused internally. It was startling how such a trait of Djura's came off as something resembling whimsy, rather than being offensive. One might even say the way the old hunter thirsted after him was _cute_. True to the request, Father Gascoigne slowly thrusted in another couple of inches, prompting a stifled moan from his lover.

“Mmf! Ohhhh my precious hunter, you feel even _larger_ than you look.”

Gascoigne chuckled. “Hhhnng, is that how it is for you? It's awfully wet, and _very_ tight for me.”

Djura nodded weakly. “It feels good. Just give me the rest.”

_He wasn’t havin’ a laugh about getting filled,_ Gascoigne thought as he slowly thrust the rest of his erection into Djura's ass, sending his balls swinging into Djura's. There was a soft-sounding smack as the blind hunter’s hips collided with the older man’s cheeks. Gascoigne’s entire member was snugly fit inside his lover. He paused a moment to catch his breath while savoring the warmth, tightness, and slickness around his prick. There was a bit more _traction_ than he was used to during sex, but the priest certainly didn’t find it unwelcoming.

“Didn’t I make myself clear?” Djura asked anxiously. “It's not my first carriage ride. Rut me like you mean it.”

“And you were calling _me_ an animal.” Picking up the pace, Gascoigne rested his body harder against Djura’s back. The posture of the two men sank further into the mattress as Father nestled his thrusts in a smooth rhythm. The tightness of the older hunter’s rectum eased up subtly. The fucking turned fast and hard, leaving the soft smacks behind in lieu of rough, emphatic slaps as Gascoigne’s body collided against Djura’s. Gascoigne flexed his erection during the deepest points of each thrust, trying to inch even further inside. 

Djura gasped at the deeper penetration. The stretching, along with the pressure from inside was nearly overwhelming. There was some discomfort, but feeling the mushroomed head of that massive prick massage over his prostate was worth it. 

“ _Gods_ , Gascoigne,” Djura said, breathless. He did his best to rest his tiring body more comfortably into the bed as the blind hunter pulled back. The older man relaxed his rectum, preparing for another thrust from his lover. “You’d impale a lesser man.”

Father Gascoigne inched forward to keep his body draped and weighing across Djura. One of his hands groped across the one-eyed hunter’s torso, from his navel to his scarred, hairy chest. “You wanted this,” Gascoigne asserted sternly. He took a moment to feel the thin hairs brushing over his fingers and nails. His dripping erection was still resting anxiously outside Djura, gently nudging at widened hole.

“Did you hear me _complaining?_ ” Djura felt those large, clawed fingers innocently prod and press their way over his collarbone, until Gascoigne’s hand was neatly fitting around his throat.

As he carefully drummed his fingers across the older man’s neck, Gascoigne could feel him breathe, feel him swallow heatedly. The church hunter himself sucked in a deep breath, then tensed his malformed hind feet as he prepared to push his cock back inside his lover. Djura's hole felt more loose and soft around the enlarged prick. The wet squelching noise was quieter. It was easily drowned out by a lengthier, more satisfied moan from the older man underneath.

“ _Ohhhhhhhh_.” Djura couldn't resist the reaction as Gascoigne swiftly reentered him, and a moment later, the length of the erection in his ass rubbed harshly against his prostate. He felt the priest's hips rest against his own rear. Father Gascoigne was fully inside again, and even after being loosened from the first round of fucking, the pressure was still immense. Djura felt truly filled.

After flexing his cock, Gascoigne resumed his rhythm. He fucked slower and softer than before, and sticking to shallower thrusts as he kept his own body resting on top of Djura's. The priest exhaled a heavy, foggy breath as he craned his head down further, until the musky smell of Djura’s sweat-stricken hair was unmistakable. The priest jutted his tongue out to lick the back of Djura’s ear. He tasted little more than bland, worn skin, but quickly licked again, this time catching the bottom of the ear and the nape of Djura’s neck. After a quick kiss to the edge of his chin, Gascoigne gave a third lick across the side Djura’s throat.

As the one-eyed hunter moaned, the Father slowed the path of his tongue, dragging it farther across the skin. Djura’s groaning voice heightened before settling into a pleasant hum. 

“I want to finish in you,” Father Gascoigne said. His voice spoke gruffly into Djura's ear as he continued ramming his member in and out of the older man. “I want you to feel it.”

There was little reaction Djura could muster, except lifting his head away from the sheets to help himself breathe. His voice was exhausted and airy. “ _Then do it._ ”

Gascoigne sped up his thrusts. The wet smacking of skin and lubricant grew faster and louder. Clawed toes dug desperately into the mattress as Gascoigne fucked, while his fingers massaged more aggressively across Djura's neck. He could feel the humming, moaning, and purring from the older man’s throat through his fingers. 

He flexed his erection a few times during the inward thrusts, baring his teeth as he neared climax. As they both expected, the prick inside Djura expanded. The mushroomed head flared, reaching even deeper inside as the shaft widened.

Gascoigne grunted as he came. Harsh breaths rushed in and out through his bared, pointed teeth. The flaring cock pressed a few inches further into Djura. The one-eyed hunter himself felt his breath hitch at the sudden expansion inside of him. He was no amateur to taking a phallus in his rear, whether it be the genuine thing or a sculpted imitation, but he had certainly never been fucked by something as large as the member currently in his ass. Djura was not as prepared to take his lover's prick as he thought.

For the priest, there was only the sensation of contracting joints and tensing muscles as his entire body shuddered and spasmed. He thrusted in deeply once more to flex his oversized cock inside Djura. As a dribble of precum leaked from his cock, there was finally a sense of relief amongst the smothering tightness of Djura's rectum.

Body shivering again, Gascoigne ground his hips tighter against his lover's rear. With a growling moan and his claws scratching dramatically into the bed sheet, the blind hunter came. His unloading cock spattered Djura's rectum with cum in aggressive waves. There was another heavy groan from the priest as his orgasm continued, still unloading liberally inside the old hunter even as the shots tapered off and weakened.

For the retired beast hunter, there was no hand-crafted, overpriced phallus that could replace the warmth and intimacy of being properly rutted from behind, and _certainly_ no equivalent for feeling dollops of cum spilling deep inside himself. Feeling the Father resting against him so closely, gripping him so tightly, and breathing against his neck so heavily only engraved the importance of the moment. He couldn't help but squirm under the Father's body. It had been too long since he’d been properly fucked, and it had _never_ felt better.

After a minute of his orgasm winding down, Gascoigne growled subtly as he collected himself. He lifted himself up to reel back, pulling his softening prick with him. It slipped out of Djura’s rear, trickling a mess of semen and glycerine.

Djura groaned loudly as he stretched out his cramped limbs, then sucked in a deep breath of air like it was his first bout of oxygen in hours. He promptly went limp onto the bed.

Gascoigne accidentally brushed his leg across a spot of wetness on the sheet. “Your bed’s a mess,” he said in an accusatory tone, as if he had no involvement. In his complete honesty, the blind hunter didn’t know if the greatest portion of the spilled fluid was lubricant or his own cum.

There was an audible sigh from Djura as he still lay utterly limp on the bed. “I can wash the sheet in the morning. There’s a spare in the closet, so you’re welcome to leave this one on the floor.”

“You’re laying on it,” the Father objected.

“I would imagine you’re big and strong enough to work around that,” the older man said with smirk as wide as he could manage, then dropped his head back to his pillow in exhaustion.

“You haven’t finished yet,” the priest noted as his hand brushed Djura’s still stiff penis.

“Mh.” Djura barely acknowledged him. He was surprised he even had the energy to masturbate on his own. “I can handle it.” He continued stroking at his member with heavy eyelids.

Gascoigne climbed back over Djura's sprawled body, and kissed him quickly on the lips. “I can too,” he said, then shifted back to make sure Djura's prick was within mouth’s reach.

The one-eyed hunter watched as his lover licked his lips. He was barely able to bite his tongue and resist spouting ‘I love you,’ right then and there.


End file.
